


STAY: Part Two

by Last_Chance_Anna



Series: STAY [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: ...and then more kisses, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bisexual Tony Stark, F/M, FRIDAY knows what's up, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Tony Stark, Pining Steve Rogers, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Sorry Pepper! I love you., pepper got dusted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-13 15:39:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21496645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Last_Chance_Anna/pseuds/Last_Chance_Anna
Summary: This is a continuation of the events of STAY: Part One.  After Civil War, Steve and Tony are both broken and hurt.  Can they work together to defeat Thanos and his army?Steve and Tony getting together Post-Infinity War...I, um, suck at summaries.  Sorry guys.  The tags will tell you more than this stupid summary.
Relationships: Bruce Banner & Clint Barton & Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov & Tony Stark & Thor, Friday & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov & Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: STAY [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1543645
Comments: 58
Kudos: 133





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, thanks to all you beautiful people for reading this little story of mine! A special thanks to those of you who took the time to say such sweet words about it. I can't tell you how much it means to me! So, I feel like I owe you a quick disclaimer: I wrote this story before Endgame came out. The trailers had started, so I took a few images from them and translated them into some of what you see here. When the movie finally came out, I peppered a few bits of canon throughout the story during one of my (many) re-writes, however, we are pretty much throwing canon out the window from here on out. Also, I am not super-interested in writing action sequences. These stories are about relationships and people, not GRRRRR. Thanks again for reading! Here we go...

Sam had told him once that meetings helped. People with shared experiences talking out their feelings helped. Fear. Denial. Survivor’s guilt. He sat in on a few a week--there was no shortage of them, not now--and listened while person after person told different versions of the same story.  
  
“We were in the grocery store, and--”  
  
“She was asking about the light bill, and--”  
  
“They were asleep on the couch, and--”  
  
And--And--And--  
  
And the ending was always the same.  
  
He never spoke during these meetings. Nothing he could have said would make either them or himself feel any better. He just sat and listened to them talk, arms folded, head down, taking it as a penance for not being strong enough, not being fast enough, not being where he should have been because of stupid decisions hastily made. Their grief was his fault. Their losses, because of him.  


Occasionally, someone would mention him. They never seemed to realize that the man they despised was sitting within their circle. He didn’t try to disguise himself, but they never noticed. Their grief was too deep, he believed. It blinded them.  
  
When the meetings were over, he’d walk the streets. He’d put one foot in front of the other, his hands shoved into his pockets, still hearing phantom voices in his head. One most of all. No fear in that voice, just bewilderment. Given time, it would have changed to fear, but there had been no time. No time for anything except a name: “--Steve?--” Just that. He’d walked out of the trees, his gun hanging from his hand, his eyes filled with a dreadful worry, and--  
  
And.  
  
Sam had been wrong.  
  
The meetings didn’t help.  
  
Oh, but it hurt to think of Sam.  
  
They wound up back at the Avengers Compound. Those of them that were left, that was. Rhodey, Bruce, Thor, Natasha, himself. There were others that hung around or that they were in contact with. Thor had brought a foul-mouthed little raccoon-like creature named Rocket with him. T’Challa’s general Okoye, Carol Danvers, a friend of Fury’s, but of the original team, his friends, his _family_, only the five of them remained. There’d been no communication from Clint, that he knew of, at least. But Nat played them close to the vest when it came to Clint, and he didn’t press her about it. If she was in contact with Barton, she would tell him eventually. She would have to.  
  
The only knowledge they had of Tony came from Bruce. He’d seen him go up into a ship and that was it. He had tried to access FRIDAY’s archives but could not get past Tony’s firewalls. No one knew where he was. Or if he was alive or dead. And that was the worst part. There was no “and” at the end of Tony’s sentence. It just ended. It just stopped.  
  
When he wasn’t at the Compound or sitting in on one of the survivor’s meetings, he took long rides on his motorcycle. He looped through the streets or out through the countryside, the engine roaring in his ears. He tried not to think during these rides, so, just like before, he thought the entire time. What to do about Thanos. How to get their people back. Who they could trust. He thought of all these things, going over them obsessively, fitting them together like pieces of a puzzle, trying to make them fit into a picture he could understand, trying to turn them into a plan. They were close to one. Scott and Bruce had ideas and theories, but it had not solidified yet. They were close, but close wasn’t a plan. There could be no victory without a plan.  
  
So, he rode, his mind worrying the problem, looking for a solution that never came. When it didn’t, when there was nothing else, it retreated to another place, another time, another puzzle that he could never figure out. It retreated to Tony Stark.  
  
He thought of the resentment and animosity of their first meeting. The almost grudging respect that came next. The fragile friendship. The hidden, unspoken tenderness. The one-sided attraction. The love.  
  
The contempt.  
  
The bitterness.  
  
The hate.  
  
The fear.  
  
That most of all. The fear that he’d last seen in Tony’s eyes as the shield came down, shattering the arc reactor in his chest, putting out its light. The fear he’d seen as he showed Tony his dark side, at last. And the realization that his dark side was too dark. That his dark side was an ebony pit that no one could bear to look into. That there were things in that pit that were restless and writhing and desperate. The realization that Tony was right to be afraid.  
  
He rode his motorcycle now, the wind cool on his face, the miles coiling out behind him, when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He pulled over, stopping on the side of the country road and put it to his ear.   
  
“Steve?” her voice breathless.  
  
“What happened?”  
  
“You need to come. Now.”  
  
“Where are you?”  
  
“The Compound.”  
  
“Has there been another attack?”  
  
“No. Steve. He’s back.”  
\---

  
Natasha was waiting for him when he pulled up. Steve parked his bike and got off. “Where is he?” he asked.  
  
Nat put her hand flat on his chest, stopping him in his tracks. It was all he could do to not lift her bodily and toss her aside. He tensed. She could feel it but kept her hand where it was.  
  
“We need to talk.”  
  
“Later. Where is he?”  
  
“Do you really think it’s a good idea for you to go charging after him after the way you two left things?” She caressed the base of his throat with her thumb while keeping the rest of her hand firmly in place. “Come on, Steve.”  
  
His shoulders dropped. “Okay.”  
  
“Let’s go up to the roof.”  
  
They’d made a little place for themselves in a nook between the helicopter pad and the raised ledge of the outer wall. It wasn’t much, just an old cot, a couple of blankets, and a cooler one or the other of them kept stocked with beer and soda, but it was better than some of the accommodations they’d had while on the run. And it was _theirs_. If anyone else knew about it, they deliberately left it alone. Neither Steve nor Natasha would have told people to stay away, but it would have changed it, and eventually they, themselves, would have abandoned it.  
  
They climbed the metal ladder that led up to it and sat side by side, shoulders pressed together, leaning against the wall. Nat pulled a blanket over their laps and motioned to the cooler. “Do you want anything?”  
  
“No.”  
  
She reached in and pulled out a can of Coke. She didn’t open it, just held it between her hands, waiting. She knew him, knew of his need to be in control, and let it happen, allowing him the illusion even though she would dictate how the conversation went. Her trust in him was absolute--as much as it was with Clint--but sometimes he needed guidance to get to where he needed to go. She could do that for him.  
  
“How did he get back?” he asked finally.  
  
“Carol.”  
  
“Oh.” He leaned his head back against the wall. “That’s good. Fury was right to contact her. I wasn’t sure.” He fidgeted, scraping paint off the brick with one short thumbnail. “At least one captain can get things done.”  
  
“Stop it.”  
  
“I’m sorry. I just…”  
  
She took his hand. “I know.”  
  
“Is he...How is he?”  
  
“Malnourished,” she said quietly. “Sad. Older.”  
  
“We’re all older now.”  
  
She nodded, her blonde hair glinting in the sun. It looked pretty. Steve touched it and she smiled at him.  
  
“Is he inside?”  
  
“No. He wanted to go home.”  
  
“To the Tower?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Who’s with him?”  
  
“Rhodey,” she said. “Bruce. He had a woman with him, too. An alien...or maybe a robot, I’m not one hundred percent sure, but Rocket knew her. He said she was Gamora’s sister.” She shrugged. “I can’t keep all these names straight.”  
  
“She’s Thanos’ daughter.”  
  
“Who hated him.”  
  
“That’s what Rocket said.”  
  
She laid her head against his shoulder. “Kinda makes you miss the days of Hydra agents and assassins, doesn’t it?”  
  
He laughed and rested his cheek on her head. “The good old days.”  
  
“Be they ever so humble.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Seconds ticked by while they sat together in the sun. Natasha could feel him thinking and let him do it. She had something she needed to say to him, but he’d lead her there. She knew he would. Their minds were similar even though their tactics usually were not.  
  
Steve heaved in a breath, like someone getting ready to lift a heavy burden. “What do I do, Nat?” he asked. “Last time I saw him, I…”  
  
“I know what you did,” she said, “and I know why.”  
  
“How do you come back from that?” he asked. His eyes were downcast, far away. He was back in that bunker, the shield in his hands, ready to deliver the final crushing blow. She could almost see him there. “Is is even possible?”  
  
“Steve--”  
  
He turned hollow eyes on her. “I betrayed him.”  
  
And there it was. She knew he’d get her there. She took both of his hands in hers and leveled him with a gaze that was kind yet stern. God, she loved him. It was not the untouchable secret love she kept locked in her heart for Clint, or the beginnings of romance she’d felt for Bruce. It was clear and fierce, almost maternal. It had been born when he’d saved her life in Zola’s lab in New Jersey, and had strengthened while they, along with Sam and Wanda, had gone on the run together. She held onto it now and let it pour from her into him through her hands and her eyes, and hopefully, her words.  
  
“Steve,” she began, “honey, I know that this is tearing you apart. I know it is. But I think you might be making it harder than it has to be.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“I mean he needs a friend.”  
  
“That’s not me anymore.”  
  
“It has to be, Steve. Because we need him, and we need you, and we need you together. We’ll all die if you aren’t.”  
  
“But--”  
  
“No. No buts. Go to the Tower. Stay there for a day or two. Get used to each other again.”  
  
“He won’t want me there.”  
  
“I already talked to Rhodey. He’s having this same conversation with Tony. It’ll be fine.”  
  
He let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “We’re getting double-teamed?”  
  
She smiled. “You both needed it.”  
  
“Okay,” he sighed. “But how do I talk to him? What do I say?”  
  
“Start with ‘hello’ and see where it goes from there.” She squeezed his hands. “You’ve carried that torch for a long time, Steve. Maybe you need to put it down and just try being his friend again.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve goes back to the Tower, reminisces, and has a meeting.

  
The building was the same. The same graceful stone and metal that rose high up into the sky. The same solid base. It gave off a regal, ethereal air, like a dream that was rooted in reality. Steve got off his bike and looked up at it. He hadn’t been here since he’d been back in New York. He never thought he’d be back here again, but here he was, a bag in his hand, almost like that very first day years ago. He’d thought he’d had it bad then, with all the worries and baggage he’d carried from his other life, but that had been a sweet oblivion compared to this. He almost wished he could go back in time and tell that other, younger him to stop being such a baby. Things got worse. Things always got worse. Things _only_ got worse. So, enjoy what you have, because it really was like Mom said--if you don’t take care of what you have, you shouldn’t have it. You don’t deserve to have it.

He walked up to the door and touched the handle. It was sun-warm and smooth in his hand. He was certain when he pulled, the door would not open, but it did. He crossed the lobby and stopped in front of the private elevator. There were people around, but no one talked to him. No one stopped him.

He pushed the button and stepped inside when the door opened. A voice came through the speaker, authoritative, decidedly masculine. “Access code.”

Steve cleared his throat. He was sweating lightly, his nerves on edge. “Rogers. Steven, Grant. Access Code 112-A.”

Silence around him. Before, FRIDAY would speak now, asking how he was then wishing him a nice afternoon when he got off. Instead, that other voice came back. “Rogers. Steven, Grant. Access Code 112-A accepted.”

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall as the elevator began to move. It was as he’d feared. He’d lost the privilege of talking to FRIDAY. He was back to the factory settings. It hurt his heart more than he had expected it to, and he was speaking even before he realized he’d meant to.

“FRIDAY?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know if you can hear me, FRI, but I wanted to say I’m sorry. I screwed up. I know I did. I hurt him. I hurt you. I hurt everybody. This is my fault. I’m going to try and fix it, I promise.” He swallowed, trying to get past the lump that was suddenly in his throat. “I know I don’t deserve a second chance, but...I need one.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, wiping away the gathering tears and waited. When she didn’t speak, he nodded. “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s okay. I understand.” And he did. That was the worst part.  
  
He felt the elevator slow down around him and looked up. It was too soon. The light was lit for the 40th floor. Tony’s private floors began ten above that. He pushed the button again.  
  
“Hello, Captain Rogers.”  
  
Relief flowed through him. “FRIDAY?”

“It’s nice to hear your voice again, Captain.”

“Yours, too.” A tear fell from his eye and he brushed it away absently.

“Would you like to go to the lab? Mr. Stark is there now with Dr. Banner.”

He bit his lip. “I don’t think I’d be welcome, do you?”

“Mr. Stark hasn’t put any restrictions on your access.”

“But what do you _think_?”

“Give him some time.”

Steve nodded. “That’s what I thought too.”

“Your rooms are just how you left them,” FRIDAY said. “We’ve had them cleaned and made up with fresh sheets, but all of your things are still there.”

“Thanks, FRI.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You-You’ll tell him I’m here, right?” he asked.

“Of course.”

“And tell him where I am. I mean, if he’s going into the living room and I’m there...I don’t want to startle him.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Okay.”

The elevator started up again. When it reached the common floor, Steve picked up his bag. “Thanks again, Miss FRIDAY.”

The door slid open. “Welcome home, Captain.”

\---

He spent half the day going through his old stuff, sifting through old memories, trying to put himself back in the mindset he’d been in before the world turned to hell. It was surprisingly difficult. He wasn’t the same man he’d been before. _We’re all older now_, he’d told Nat. At the time, it had just been something to say, but it was funny how the simplest statements could be the most prophetic. There was still optimism within him, still kindness and goodness, but that hardness, that darkness, had begun to insinuate itself throughout his being, as well. He did not know if that made him a better person or a worse one. After Thanos, he could not bring himself to think of the word “balance”, but sitting here, all alone in a room filled with emotional debris, he would be lying if he said it was not the word that seemed to fit.

On the floor, leaning back against the foot of the bed, he thought of all the times he and Nat had lain there watching tv, not talking much, just watching. Sometimes Clint would come in and wedge himself into the space between them and rest his head on Natasha’s shoulder. Or Steve’s. He wasn’t picky about who played the part of pillow when naptime rolled around. Or Wanda would stretch out along the bottom and change the channel with a flick of her finger.

He picked up a pennant from a Yankee game he’d went to with Tony. Steve had been nervous to go because he’d thought somehow it would be different from before when he’d gone with his mom or Bucky. Tony talked him into it. He said he had to go because Tony didn’t want to go by himself and both Pepper and Rhodey were busy.

“Why are you going?” Steve had asked. “I thought you hated sports.”

“Oh, I do. I don’t see the point in watching a bunch of grown men play catch and spit all over everything, but SI donated some money to one of the same charities the Yankees did, and they gave me season tickets. Apparently, they’re starting to get pissed that no one has used them yet.”

“Where are the seats?”

“Behind the dug-out? Is that good?”

Steve looked at him, feeling almost affronted. “You have season tickets to the Yankees--behind the _dug-ou_t--and you haven’t been to a single game?”

Tony twirled his hand vaguely. “I told you, the spitting. It’s very off-putting.”

So, Steve went with him and once there, lost in the crowd, the good warm heat of the sun beating down, the smell of peanuts and beer in his nose, the crack of rawhide against ash, the press of Tony’s shoulder against his, all of the anxiety fell away and he found himself cheering and yelling just like before. Even Tony looked up from his phone from time to time, and if Steve felt him watching him more than the game, well, what of it?

They went out for dinner afterward at a hole-in-the-wall Thai place where they called Tony by name and brought out mounds of food he didn’t have to order. When they got ready to leave, Tony kissed the old woman who served them on the cheek. She flapped her hand at him and said something in a language Steve couldn’t begin to understand. Tony looked at Steve, a little smile playing around his lips, then answered back in the same language. The old woman, not a day under seventy-five, Steve judged, giggled like a schoolgirl.

“What was that about?” Steve asked as they got into the car.

“She wanted to know how an old man like me had gotten a date with a young, pretty guy like you.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry, Rogers. I told her _you_ were the one robbing the cradle and that you’d probably be back for her next.”

Steve could feel the blush climbing up his neck--sometimes he hated that pale Irish skin--and laughed weakly. “I’d probably have a better shot with her.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, soldier,” Tony said, starting the engine. “Ninety percent of the people in this city would probably die to nail you.”

Tony turned the stereo up and drove home with the top down. Steve was glad he didn’t have to talk. He couldn’t stop thinking about where Tony fit into that equation.

Steve held the pennant in his hands now, smiling a little. It was a good memory. They were all good memories--movie nights, rooftop paintball (but only when Clint wasn’t around. They didn’t call him “Hawkeye” for nothing.), late night tea with Bruce, and every second of every day that he spent with Tony. Looking back now, even the worst days with Tony had been so very good.

But now…

He started gathering everything back up, folding old t-shirts and tucking photos back into the drawers.

“Captain?”

“Yeah, FRI?”

“Colonel Rhodes is asking for you in the 60th floor conference room.”

“Okay. Thanks. Will you tell him I’m on my way?”

“Of course, Captain.”

Steve stood up. He’d been waiting for this. Since he’d walked through those lobby doors, he’d been waiting. There was a meeting. Tony would be there. He’d be there. They had to meet eventually. It might as well be in the 60th floor conference room. At least it was neutral ground.

He went up the elevator, trying to keep his mind blank. He kept it blank as he got off and walked down the hallway. The conference room door stood open. Steve stepped inside, all confidence and empty mind, then stopped in his tracks as his head exploded with Tony’s name.

He was sitting at the table in an office chair, a cup of coffee on the table in front of him. He was skinny, his face gaunt, his eyes wide and dark and haunted. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt with a robe open over them. They looked rumpled as if he’d slept in them. His hair, always so neat before, stood up in spikes as if he had run his hand through it constantly. It had gotten grayer at the temples.

Steve gripped the doorframe. He had to. He had to have an anchor. If he didn’t, there would have been nothing to stop him from crossing the room and dropping to his knees in front of Tony. Nothing to stop him from pressing his forehead into his lap and releasing a non-stop litany of apologies and promises and pleas for forgiveness. All the old feelings of desire and love and need rose up in him, tearing through his carefully made defenses like the flood that follows a tsunami. They cared nothing for his new-found “balance”. Tony was here. Tony was _right here_, and he wanted him so much he would have given up another fifty percent of the population just to touch his hand.

Then Nat was there beside him. She put her hand on his arm. Her eyes were frank and hard. _Don’t_, those eyes said. _We need you, so just. Fucking. Don’t._

It helped. He breathed in and out, then nodded as the wave went back out to sea. It did not disappear, but it retreated to a safer level. “I’m okay,” he mouthed, and entered the room.

“There you are, Cap,” Rhodey said. Tony didn’t look up, his face did not change at all.

“Is there anything new?”

“Nebula was able to give us some insight.” Rhodey gestured to the alien/robot Nat had talked about. Steve wasn’t one hundred percent sure which she was either.

“Thank you for that,” Steve said to her.

The eyes she turned on him were as black and cold as the night sky she had come from. “You’re the one,” she said.

“I’m sorry?” Steve asked, but she ignored him and cut her gaze to Tony. He didn't look at her, but when she went to his side, he touched the cool blue of her hand.

And because his eyes had followed her across the room, because she was standing right next to Tony--at attention, like a soldier--Steve could put it off no longer. “Hello, Tony,” he said. His guts roiled inside his stomach, but his voice came out firm, in control.

Tony’s lids closed and when they opened, those eyes rested on Steve’s at last. Sad and older, yes, that was true, but Steve saw pure, clean hate there too, and a swirl of fear. Those things had not been there for Nat. Certainly not for Bruce or Rhodey, but for Steve, Steve who had lied, Steve who had betrayed, Steve who had nearly killed him, in those eyes, it was all he could see.

Steve didn’t run from bullies. He didn’t run from giant alien worms or gods bent on destroying the city he loved. Turned out, the only thing he’d ever been compelled to run from was sitting in front of him right now. And the reason was clear: Tony was his dark mirror, and Steve used him to see himself.

Through Tony’s eyes, Steve didn’t see the super-soldier Dr. Erskine and Howard had imagined then birthed out of a metal womb. He didn’t see the man who commanded armies and took down Hydra. He didn’t even see that kid who had jumped on a grenade during training to save the other guys from the blast. That kid had been skinny and lonely, but he had been good. A good man.

Steve didn’t see those aspects of himself when he looked through Tony’s eyes. All he could see was the liar. The condescender. Through Tony’s eyes, he was weak. He was a coward. Through Tony’s eyes, he had been judged, and found wanting. Part of him knew it was wrong, that he was using Tony in some bitter, masochistic way, but he could no more stop it now than stop the Earth from spinning.

He took a step back now under the cold weight of those eyes, but then he stopped. Every fiber, every molecule, every atom that lived within his skin told him to run. These men and women were heroes. He had no place among them and the very idea that he ever actually thought he had, defiled them.

But they needed him.

Or, rather, they needed the serum that ran through him. He was just a vessel, a containment unit for the thing they actually needed. They needed the monster Erskine and Howard had brewed in their lab. Steve Rogers, Brooklyn-boy, born and raised, just came along for the ride.

But that boy could still square his shoulders. That boy could still straighten his spine, and he did it now. 

“It’s good to have you back,” he said, and it came out steady.

Tony looked away from him, back down at his hands.

Steve went to the table and sat down. “Where are we, Rhodey?” he asked. “What’s the plan?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!


	3. Chapter 3

Steve saw Tony at meetings in the conference room that had become their base of operations, but never outside of there. Tony still wouldn’t speak to him, and that was fine. If Steve had a question only Tony could answer, he directed it to the room in general and Tony answered the same way. It was a way to work together without actually having to _work_ together.

When not in meetings, Steve kept to his room and the training room. If he was hungry, he asked if the kitchen was empty. If FRIDAY said it was, he’d go make something and bring it back to the room to eat. If she said somebody was in there, he waited until they were gone.

Natasha came to his room sometimes, but more often they met in the training room. They didn’t talk about much while they sparred, but she was even more quiet today. She seemed anxious. She was more aggressive, but sloppy in her technique. Steve took her down twice.

She lay on her back, his forearm pressed firmly against her throat, pinning her in place. She tapped his shoulder twice, quick and light, and he let up immediately. He stood and held out his hand. She took it and let him pull her to her feet.

“That was a low blow,” she panted.

“Tighten your defense. There aren’t any rules.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“I don’t know. Do you?”

Quick as a cat, she came for him. She ducked his fist and pounced on his back. Although she was agile and light, he was still able to grab her arm. She hit him twice in the face, sacrificing power for speed, and he threw her to the ground, pinning her again. 

“I said, tighten your defense,” he growled, and she snapped her head up sharply, catching him in the nose. He fell back as blood spurted.

“Tighten your own.”

Steve swiped at the blood and sat up. Nat watched him warily, clearly waiting for another attack. He held his hand up. 

“White flag, Nat,” he said. “I surrender.”

“For real?”

He nodded. “For real.”

She grabbed a water bottle and a towel from the table. She took a swallow and handed him the bottle. He drank deeply.  
  
“Thanks,” he said.

“Let me see your nose,” she said and knelt beside him.

He leaned forward. She touched it gingerly. “Doesn’t feel broken,” she said, and wiped some of the blood away.

“Nah, it’s okay.”

She blotted the rest of the blood away, then leaned back. “Good as new,” she said, and a grief-laced arrow pierced his heart.

“Did I say something?”

“No,” he said, giving her a tired smile. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

She nodded.

“How about I take you out to dinner? Sort of a truce?”

“We don’t need a truce, Steve,” she said. “I’m on your side. I’m always on your side.”  
  
He took her hand and threaded their fingers together. “I’m on yours, too. You do know that?”

“I know.”

“So, tell me what’s going on with you.”

She looked away, troubled, and he thought he knew what it was. There was only one thing that could make her look like that. He waited.

“I found him,” she said finally.

“Where is he?”

“Japan. I’m leaving in a couple of hours.”

Steve swallowed and tightened his grip on her hand. “Are you bringing him in or joining him?”

“I’m going to ask him to come back, but…”

She trailed off and Steve nodded. He’d known what her answer would be before she said it. She loved Steve--they loved each other--but Clint was something else entirely. Steve understood that, he always had, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

“Thanos,” he said. “We need you. _I_ need you.”

Natasha laid her hand on his cheek. “It’ll be okay.”

He pulled her into his arms and held her. His rock. His constant. He supposed the plan could go on without her, but he was less confident in whether or not he could.

One traitorous tear fell from his eye as she pulled away. She touched it with her fingertip. “I’ll come back if I can.”

“Bring him in, Nat,” he said. “This is his home, too. More now than ever.”

She nodded. “That’s part of what I’m going to tell him.”

“Tell him he still has family. And we need him back.”

She smiled. “That’s the other part.”

Steve nodded. “Okay.”

“I should go get ready.”

They stood up together and before she could leave, Steve cupped the back of her head and kissed her mouth. It was brief and soft and weighed his heart with loss, but he had to do it. She returned his kiss. Her lips tasted of good-bye.

“I’ll see you in a few days,” he said.

She left the room without replying. He watched her go, and then he was alone.

Again.  
\---

He stayed in the training room until he was sure she was gone. He knew if he saw her again, he would not be able to stop himself from asking her to stay. And he knew she would leave anyway. It was better to just spare them both that heartache.

So, he ran some laps then took a long shower, letting the water run until it turned cold. He stood under the spray for a few minutes after that. He stood there until he began to tremble, not just from the cold, but from the fear, the panic locking his lungs. It was penance. It was retribution. It was necessary.

When oxygen-deprived stars blurred his vision, Steve shut the water off and stumbled out of the stall. He wrapped a towel around his waist then leaned against the sink, staring at his reflection. The clear, high brow, the blue eyes, the blonde hair.

He hated it.

All of a sudden, he hated it.

He lashed out, driving from the hip, and hit the mirror with his fist. It shattered on impact, the glass fairly exploding against his skin.

Blood flew in a spray.

Steve fell back a step, taking in shallow, shaky breaths.

“Captain Rogers?”

Her voice was shocked, worried.

“It’s okay, FRI,” he said.

“Should I call Mr. Stark?”

“No,” he said sharply. “No, I’m fine.”

He took a step back.

“The glass, Captain.”

He looked down at the glass on the floor. His hated reflection looked up at him a thousand times over. “I’ll be careful.”

He stepped over the glass and sat on the bench. He put his head in his hands and stayed that way for a long time.

\---

It was after midnight when he finally made his way upstairs. The floor was dark with only the city lights to illuminate the room. He did not stop to admire the view. His head hurt. His hand hurt. Looking out at the city would not help either of those things. It would, in fact, make them worse. Since the snap, there were fewer lights. Even the brightest city in the world had dimmed. Everything had.

He skirted around the sofa and made for the kitchen. He wanted some ice for his hand. He had plucked out the bits of glass, washed it out, and poured half a bottle of peroxide over it, gritting his teeth against the acrid sting. He’d looped a bit of gauze clumsily around the wound. It was lightyears from the efficient job Tony had done for him before, but it didn’t matter. The serum was already at work. He could almost feel it stitching his skin back together like a weaver at a loom. In a few hours, it would be healed. 

But right now, it hurt like a bitch.

He walked in and went right to the freezer. He didn’t look around. He didn’t realize he wasn’t alone until he turned around, his hand full of ice from the icemaker.

“That’s unsanitary.”

Steve started, his hand closed tighter on the ice. His knuckles burned.

He turned around and grabbed a dishtowel. “I didn’t know anyone else was in here,” he said. He dumped the ice into the towel and gathered the edges together.

“What’d you do?”

Steve pressed the make-shift ice pack against his hand. “What do you care?”

“I don’t.”

“Then why’d you ask?”

Tony shrugged. He was standing against the counter, bare feet crossed at the ankle, wearing sweats and a black tank top. His hair was clean and smooth. He’d put on a little weight since he’d come back. He looked almost the same as he had before the snap. Before Siberia. He was eating a bowl of cereal, and it was all so familiar, so Tony, it was infuriating.

Steve shook his head. “I’ll come back later.”

“Don’t leave on my account.”

“Maybe I was leaving on _my_ account,” Steve grumbled. “Did you ever think of that? Christ, Tony, not everything is about you.”

Tony blinked in mild surprise. “Don’t mind me,” he said. “Nebula isn’t much for chit-chat, I must have lost my manners up there. You know, in space. Where you left me.” He raised an eyebrow. “What’s your excuse?”

Cold, coiled rage flared in Steve’s chest. He didn’t try to hold it back. He couldn’t have if he’d tried.

“Fuck you, that’s my excuse,” he spat. “I didn’t _leave_ you up there. I didn’t know where you were. I didn’t know if you were alive, I didn’t know if you were dead, I didn’t know--” he swallowed hard, “I didn’t know if you were fucking dust.” Steve stopped, breathing hard, the fury running out of him. Fresh blood, dark and red, ran from underneath the bandage, staining it.

He hitched in a breath and let it out in a shuddering rush. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet, weary. “I know I should have been the one to find you.”

“That’s right. You should have. I waited. For _weeks_. I kept telling Nebula, ‘Steve’s coming. Steve will find us.’” He laughed cynically. “I shoulda known better, though, right, Rogers? It’s not the first time you left me somewhere.”

“Tony,” Steve said and stepped toward him.

Tony jerked back, clutching the edge of the counter, eyes wide and watchful.

Steve fell back. “You’re afraid of me,” he said, weakly. “I never wanted you to be afraid of me.”

“Yeah, well,” Tony said, straightening, regaining his composure, regaining his strength even as Steve lost his own. “I didn’t want to have you and your boyfriend come at me in a fucking tag-team death-match either. Dick move, Rogers.”

Steve met Tony’s blazing eyes. A feeling of complete and utter awe swept over him, and with it came an understanding so deep it hurt. They were broken. Beyond repair. And he would never be able to fix it no matter how hard he tried.

“You say you wanted me to be the one to find you, but you flinch if I even try to come near you.” He shook his head in wonder. “I'm never going to be able to win with you, am I?”

“It sure felt like you won in Siberia.”

“If that’s what you think, you’re not nearly as smart as I thought you were,” Steve said softly. “I’ll be there to fight,” he said. “Other than that, I’ll stay away. And when everyone’s back, I’ll leave for good.” He began to retreat, one slow careful step at a time, as though there were landmines all around him and snipers above. “Tell Rhodey I’ll do whatever it takes. Whatever it takes to get our people back.”

“Our people?” Tony said, bitterly. “Don’t you mean you’ll do whatever it takes to get_ him_ back?”

Steve turned his back.

“Because _him_ you’ll look for.”

Steve started walking and didn’t look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm adding the next chapter tomorrow...It's a biggie. Thanks again to everyone reading this!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the last night before the end...

Thanos was coming. Through the connections both Nebula and Carol had, they heard. He was on his way. One day. Maybe two.

They all sat at the conference room table, talking it out one last time. After tonight, there would be no more talk. The time for talk was over.

Steve sat slumped in his seat, idly rifling through the papers in front of him. He wasn’t listening. He was tired of the talk. He just wanted to get it over with. He’d packed his bags the night of his fight with Tony in the kitchen. They sat by the door, patiently waiting like pet dogs. When this was over, he’d grab them and be gone before anyone even noticed. He wouldn’t say good-bye. There had been only one person he would have sought out and she was gone already. He could say good-bye to FRIDAY on the way out of the building. She wouldn’t answer him, he’d failed his second chance, but he could still say it and hope she heard.

“Cap?”

A furry paw smacked his forearm. Steve looked over and Rocket jerked his head at Rhodey.

“What?” Steve asked.

“I asked if you’d heard anything from Nat. Can we count on her?”

Steve shook his head. He’d held out hope, but it was gone now. “She’s not coming back.”

“Alright. Contingency six, then, everyone.”

The meeting broke up after that, but Steve hardly noticed. He reached into his pocket and took out his compass. Peggy looked up at him from inside. He ran his thumb tenderly along the curve of her face. He wished to god she was here now.

“Beautiful.”

Steve looked around. Thor stood above him looking at Peggy over his shoulder. “This is the one I’ve heard of, the woman you loved?”

“I never stopped,” Steve said.

Thor pulled out the chair next to him and sat down. He leaned Stormbreaker against the table between them. “May I see?”

Steve’s fingers curled possessively over the compass, but he forced them open and placed it in Thor’s large hand.

He looked at it, at her, the dark eyes, the pale skin. Steve remembered seeing her for the first time, the drop in his stomach. She’d been there when he’d went into Howard’s machine, her voice had been the last good thing he’d heard before he dropped the Valkyrie into the ocean. He’d been afraid to go see her when he’d heard she was still alive all those years later, but he wouldn’t trade those hours sitting by her bedside for anything.

Except for more time with her before the ice. He would have traded anything to have that.

“She looks to be very kind,” Thor said. “Very soft.”

Steve smiled. Looks could be deceiving. “She was,” he said, “except when she was telling me to move my ass or shooting at me.”

Thor nodded approvingly. “Ah, so she was formidable, then.”

“Yes, she was definitely that.”

Thor closed the compass with a gentleness that bordered on reverence. “Here,” he said, handing it back. “Keep it next to your heart. Ever have the warriors of Asgard ridden into battle wearing the favor of their beloved upon their chest. It reminds us of why we fight.”

Steve closed the compass in his fist. “But she’s gone,” he said quietly. “Honestly, I don’t know why I’m fighting anymore.”

Thor put his hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Many of those I love are gone, as well. Our reasons to go to war may change, but rarely the need for it. It’s our duty to find some reason, however small, to keep fighting.”

Steve nodded. Asgard, he thought, would be very lucky to have Thor sit as their king. He felt lucky to be able to sit here with him now. “Thanks,” he said.

Thor squeezed his shoulder and stood up. Steve joined him. As he did, his fingers brushed the wooden handle of Stormbreaker. A rush of electricity seemed to shiver up his arm. It felt like raw power. And oh, so dangerously right.

“Captain?”

Steve moved his fingers away. “Yeah?”

“Are you alright?” Thor asked, scrutinizing his face.

Steve nodded, but he felt odd, almost drugged. “I’m fine.”

Thor picked up Stormbreaker and hefted it. “The weapon of a god,” he mused, still looking curiously at Steve.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Yet formidable. Like your lady-love.”

“Yes.”

“Tell me,” Thor said, “was she untouchable? Many beautiful things are.”

Steve thought of her again, thought of her red lips, how they’d tasted. His hand still tingled. He clenched his fist and another jolt of that raw, powerful electricity ran up his arm. “No,” he whispered. “She was anything but that.”

Thor eyed him speculatively for a moment, then shook his head, breaking the spell that had seemed to hold them both in thrall. “You’ll join us in the morning, yes?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Steve said.

“You must. A warrior’s feast before battle strengthens not only our bodies, but our bonds of brotherhood. You are as much our brother as any man here.”

Dumb gratitude coursed through him. He forgot Peggy, he forgot Tony, he forgot even that shivery, electric feeling that resided in the axe’s haft. He nodded. “Okay,” he said, “yeah, of course, I’ll be there.”

“You are a good man, Captain.”

Thor left and Steve thought again that Asgard would be in good hands if Thor took up the mantle of king. Steve himself certainly felt better than he had in days. If someone as good as Thor could still see something in him then maybe there was still hope.

He turned to the table and began to sweep all his notes back into their folder. He whistled a little while he worked.

It wasn’t until he’d picked up all his things and snapped off the light, that he wondered if Thor had been speaking of Peggy at all when he asked if she was untouchable.

He wondered if _he_ had been when he answered.

\---

Steve dropped his paperwork in his room and changed. It was getting late, and he knew he should try and rest, but he was too wired to sleep yet. He didn’t know if that was because of the coming battle, the serum, or the residual aftershocks of touching Stormbreaker, but whatever the reason, he knew he’d never sleep now.

He passed the kitchen without a glance. There were voices coming from inside, but he walked on. He’d been avoiding the room, eating all his meals out. It was expensive, but he did it. Twice, at places that knew him, he charged the food to Tony’s account. It had given him a small, mean pleasure to do that. It was Tony’s fault he had to eat out anyway, he might as well pay for it.

He went down to the training room and slipped right into a run. It was a good time to think, the repetitive motion, one foot in front of the other, arms pumping, lungs filling and emptying, heart expanding and contracting. His body knew what to do. He trusted it. He even trusted the serum that ran through it. He didn’t always feel that way, but now, running, running, was so simple an act that he sometimes forgot that he hadn’t always been able to do it. And it felt good. It felt good to run. It felt good to have the air fill his lungs and not get stuck halfway down, unwilling to either go up or down, blocking his throat until he passed out. Or died. There had always been that possibility.

So, yeah, he trusted it. Part of him even loved it. There was so much he would have missed out on if he had not taken Erskine’s deal. So many things he would not have done. So many people he would not have met. Peggy. Natasha. Tony. All the things that made up the terrain of his life--the highs and the lows--had come because of the serum. And he’d helped people, too. That was all he’d ever really wanted. To protect the little guy from the bigger ones. He’d done that. He was still doing that.

Steve slowed to a stop. He was breathing a little heavier, but only a little. He smiled. Maybe it was the endorphins, but a sense of peace had been steadily filling him, brightening the dark places inside him, and he welcomed it with a whole heart, like he welcomed the sun each morning.

The tape sat on the little table next to the punching bags. Steve grabbed it and began winding it over his knuckles. As he did, he thought of the feeling that had slammed up his arm when he touched Stormbreaker. In a way, it had been very much like the feeling he’d had when Tony had bandaged his hands so long ago. Raw, powerful, hungry. He remembered wondering what it would have been like if he had slid his arm around Tony and kissed him. He wondered now if he had gripped the handle of the axe, would he have been able to lift it?

He’d tried to lift Mjolnir once. Everyone had been there, everyone had tried, laughing, watching each other fail. Tony and Rhodey had pulled together, Clint, Bruce, only Natasha had abstained, that cat-like smile on her face. Then Steve had stepped up. When he touched the leather grip, hadn’t there been a tiny jolt of electricity? He’d chalked it up as static build-up from the rug at the time, but now he wondered. He also wondered if it had _actually_ rocked just a fraction of an inch when he tensed his muscles to pull. He thought it had, but then Ultron had come in and everything went to hell. He’d stuffed it away in the back of his mind, never taking it out to examine it except in the occasional dream where he wielded it in battle against some nameless foe.

But those were just dreams, like the ones he had of Tony soft and pliant in his arms. Not real. And that electricity had been a static charge released by his skin on the wood. Nothing more.

But he’d still like to try again.

Steve picked up one of the sandbags and hung it in place. He was warmed up but had not even broken a sweat yet. It was ten o’clock. Hours before sun-up. Hours to just let his body do what it wanted to do. He struck out with his fist. Again. Again. He circled the bag, hitting in rabbit-quick jabs that barely made the bag quiver. But it felt right. 

He heard the door open and knew who it was. The weight of his eyes was too familiar.

Steve sent his fist out one last time hard, pulling it only a little at the last second so it wouldn’t break the bag and send it flying in a storm of sand, then he turned around.

“What are you doing down here?” he asked.

Tony walked around the table. He picked up the tape then put it back down. Flicked the water bottle with his finger. He didn’t look at Steve. “It’s my building,” he said. “I guess that means I can go wherever I want.”

“And you _wanted_ to come here?”

“I _wanted_ to go to the lab. Or to the kitchen, or the garage, but _FRIDAY_,” he said, putting a stern twist on her name, “said I should come here.”

“She did?” Steve asked, confused. “Why?”

Tony looked at him at last, brown eyes flashing with annoyance. “Why do you think?”

Realization dawned and he could not suppress a laugh. “You don’t mean--?”

“Hole in one, Rogers. 713-B.”

Steve laughed again. “I thought you would have cancelled that.”

“Well, I was a little busy. What with half my team being fugitives and then the world ending, and all. It was on my to-do list.”

“But why did she activate it?”

“She seemed to think you were in distress.”

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Tony said, eyeing him. Steve was suddenly furiously glad he’d shaved his beard before Tony had seen it. He would have hated it. “Fit as a fucking fiddle, as per usual.”

“You-you look good, too,” Steve stammered. “Better. You know. Than you did.” He sighed, frustrated with himself.

“Don’t hurt yourself, Rogers.”

“I just meant--”

“I know what you meant.”

Tony had not stopped walking while they spoke. His hands moved restlessly, leaving his pockets, coming out to touch the ropes around the boxing ring, running through his hair, then back to his pockets again. He had orbited the space around where Steve stood, and now he was near the door again. He was going to leave. He may feel bad about it, because there was unfinished business here, but he’d still do it. Steve knew he would.

“Well,” Tony said, “seeing as you’re so fine and dandy, I’ll just be on my way. Seems like I have an artificial assistant to reprogram.”

Steve was across the room before either of them knew he was moving. Tony flinched as Steve’s large hand closed over his elbow, but he didn’t pull away. Steve’s touch was gentle.

“No, Tony, don’t go,” Steve said. “Stay. Let’s talk or something. We can’t keep avoiding each other. I can’t. Not with Than--”

“God, don’t talk about that,” Tony rasped. “Don’t even say the name. I don’t want to hear it in your mouth.”

They were standing so close, the heat between them a palpable thing. Tony felt it too this time, there was no denying it. It was in his eyes, a simmering look like molten lava, and in his skin. The muscles trembled under Steve’s grasp. Steve swallowed. “Okay, Tony,” he said. “Anything you want.”

Then Tony was gone. He jerked out of Steve’s hand and blundered a few steps away. He stood, facing away, his hands on his hips, his head thrown back. He was the very image of a desperate man trying to regain control. Steve only heard the harsh, “Anything I want? _Jesus_.” because of the serum. Super-hearing came with the package.

Steve stood still, indecisive, watching Tony work through it. There was something between them, that much was painfully obvious, but that didn’t mean it was what Steve wanted it to be. He hated the ambiguity of it all. He appreciated straight lines and symmetry. Tony was chaos, he was order. Two sides of the same coin. One could not exist without the other, but they were always at odds, no matter what they did.

He wanted so very badly to go to Tony, but he couldn’t. He settled for saying his name.

Tony’s shoulders slumped.

“Tony, come on,” Steve pleaded. “We’ve got to get past this.”

Tony turned and came back. He stopped in front of Steve and looked up at him with his rich, dark eyes. “You’re right,” he sighed, and punched Steve in the jaw.

“Hey! What the hell?” Steve put a hand to his jaw. Tony’s fist had been hard and fast. It hurt.

Tony circled left, his fists raised slightly. “What? You said we should talk or _something_. I’m picking ‘or something’.”

“So, you punch me in the face?”

“I would have punched you in the gut, but you don’t have one. My fist would have just bounced off those goddamn abs.”

Steve rolled his eyes and huffed out an irritated breath. “Do you really think this is the most productive way to--”  
  
Tony’s fist shot out again. Steve leaned back, dodging it. “Probably not,” he said. “But you said ‘anything I want’. You did say that, right? I could have sworn you did.”

“I wasn’t talking about you sucker-punching me.”

“I heard what I heard,” he said, striking out again.

Steve caught his fist. “I’m not going to fight with you.”

“Why, ‘cause you’re so much stronger than I am? Christ, what a boy scout.”

Steve dropped Tony’s fist and dodged again as Tony struck. “You know why.”

“Right. Because you beat my ass so hard last time.”

“Stop it.”

Tony nodded. “So, go easy on me,” he said. “We’re all _friends_ here, right?”

Steve flinched at the sarcasm that dripped like bitter honey from Tony’s words. Hurt and guilt and shame rolled over him in waves. A moment ago, he might have thought the answer to that question was edging into ‘yes’ again. Clearly, he’d been wrong. It wasn’t the first time, but at least if Thanos had his way, it would probably be the last. Right now, that was almost a relief. Right now, that was almost a comfort.

He turned his back and started for the door, but a white-hot lance of pain struck the middle of his back. It was brief but intense. He fell forward, barely catching himself on his palms, then rolled over onto his back.

Tony came up beside him. The gauntlet he had used to shoot him with melted away as he put his arm around Steve’s back and heaved him up. “Come on, soldier,” he said. “Up you get. Come on, you’re fine, I only hit you with point-five percent.”

Steve let Tony help him over to the wall and leaned against it. He drew his knees up and crossed his arms over his chest, making himself as small as possible. Tony sat across from him, legs outstretched, leaning on a pillar.

“Point-five percent?” Steve asked.

“Fine,” Tony answered. “It was ten. But you’re all ‘super’ and stuff. You can take it.”

“You should hit me with a full blast,” Steve muttered. “I deserve it.”

Tony flexed his foot and nudged Steve’s thigh. “Don’t be such a drama queen.”

“I’m not being a drama queen. It’s just before the serum, before _this_,” Steve said bitterly, gesturing to his own body. “I was a mess. Asthma, weak heart, brittle bones--I know you've read my file--I got picked on a lot. Bucky, he always stood up for me. Even when we got older and I did stupid stuff and got in fights…” Hot tears began to prickle the backs of his eyes. He wiped them and kept his head down. He waited for Tony to say something, because of course, he would. He hated Bucky and Steve understood that, but he needed to explain. He needed Tony to see his side, not the whole picture maybe, but at least a piece of it.

But Tony kept quiet. Steve didn’t look at him, but he could feel his eyes on him, feel him listening, and his proximity made it easier to talk.

“It would have been a hell of a lot easier on him if he’d just walked away. But he didn’t. He stayed. And he kept sticking up for me, and he kept protecting me, and when my mom--he was all I had.”

“Steve--”

“No,” he said gruffly. He needed to get this out, for himself now, as well as Tony. “It was my fault. It was my turn to save him, and I-I let him fall. And then they had him and they turned him into some kind of--”

He looked up suddenly, his eyes boring into Tony’s like diamond chips. “What would you have done?” he asked. “If Rhodey had--”

Tony shook his head. “Rhodey would never--”

“Neither would Bucky!” Steve flared. “He was a hero, Tony, he wasn’t-he wasn’t like that. He’s not what they made him into. He’s my family. The only family I ever had until you guys.”

He looked at Tony helplessly. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I am. If it had been anybody else, Tony, _anybody_, I wouldn’t have even hesitated.”

Steve curled tighter, tears falling. He didn’t look at Tony. He couldn’t.

He felt a touch on his wrist, and he flinched back as if burned.

“Hey,” Tony said, and he moved closer, grasping Steve’s wrist lightly. “Hey, come on, don’t do that. It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”

“Yes, it is,” Steve insisted. “Yes, it is, Tony, your mother would still--”

“Hey.” Tony let go of his wrist and sat next to him. He put his arm around his shoulders and tugged. “Come on, Steve, come here,” he coaxed, and Steve reluctantly allowed himself to be tugged until he was pressed against Tony’s side with Tony’s arm wrapped around his shoulders.

“FRIDAY, lock down the training room, ‘kay?” Tony said, then gave Steve a little squeeze. “None of this is your fault, Steve. You know, I _did_ read your file, and you did everything you could. More than you could, because you’re _you_ and you can’t stand to not exceed every fucking limitation ever set.”

Steve laughed a little and laid his head on Tony’s shoulder.

“I can’t tell you that I’ve forgiven him,” Tony said, “but I am trying to understand.”

“Do you think you’ll ever forgive me?”

Tony leaned his cheek against the top of Steve’s head and moved his hand up to brush through his hair. “I’m getting there,” he said.

Steve closed his eyes. That feeling of peace began to return as Tony’s fingers moved through his hair and brushed over the smooth skin at the back of his neck. He moved a little, tucking his head under the shelf of Tony’s jaw, and when Tony tightened his grip on his shoulders, Steve knew a moment of happiness that was so deep it hardly felt real.

Had he ever thought he’d been happy before? His time with Peggy had been too short. They’d never had the time to just be quiet together. Their every moment had been filled with worry, fear, and blood. It had brought them together in a way simple moments might not have done, and their love had burned brighter because of it, but he could not remember having a moment of quiet peace with her. He ached for that loss even now while he sat here with Tony’s arm around him, but instead of turning this time into something bittersweet, it made it even better. Steve thanked her for that in his heart. He thanked her for being the one to show him what true love could be. He would carry that with him for however long he had left in this life. He would carry her face and her heart and her sweet love with him forever. But maybe now, he would not have to carry her picture as much. Maybe now, the person whose favor he would wear riding into battle was sitting here beside him.

Steve opened his eyes. His hand stole out and touched a hole in Tony’s shirt. Black Sabbath, this time. Steve hadn’t even tried listening to them, but the shirt he remembered very well.

“There’s a hole in your shirt,” he said.

“It’s no big deal,” Tony said, his voice quiet, contented. “I’ve got lots of shirts.”

“But I like this one.”

“You do?”

“Mm-hmm. You wore it when we saw the Yankees play that time.”

“That’s some crazy memory you’ve got there. I don’t even remember who won.”

“The Red Sox. Six-two.”

“That’s right.”

“Then we went to that Thai place.”

Tony huffed a little laugh, ruffling Steve’s hair with his breath. “We should go back there,” he said. “I told Nin you’d be coming back for her.”

Steve felt a familiar swoop in his stomach. “Are you trying to get me a date?” he asked. He was trying for casual, but every word felt like a bullet being loaded into a gun. Tony would be the one to pull the trigger, but if it would go harmlessly wide or straight through his heart, Steve didn’t know.

Tony shrugged. Steve felt the lift of his shoulders against him. “Somebody’s got to,” Tony said. “How long has it been, Rogers?”

Rogers.

Head shot. Right between the eyes.

Steve pulled himself out of Tony’s grip and stood up. He’d always been “Cap” when Tony was in a good mood. Later, Tony started calling him “soldier”. Steve noticed he rarely did it when the others were around. It was a private nickname, just between the two of them, and Steve always felt a giddy pleasure whenever Tony called him that. It felt intimate, like something a man would say to someone who was maybe more than just a friend. Now, tonight, he’d been “Steve”. Just “Steve”. And hearing that had been the best of all. He was only “Rogers” when Tony was angry. Or when he was making fun of him.

“Hey,” Tony said, rising. “Are you okay?”

Steve went to the elevator. “FRIDAY, will you unlock the training room?”

Tony reached him just as the door began to open. “FRIDAY, relock the training room.”  
  
The door thumped closed again and Steve glared at Tony. “FRIDAY, please unlock the training room.”

“FRIDAY, please ignore all requests from Captain Rogers until further notice.”

“Damnit, Tony,” he muttered, and started for the door to the stairs. Tony grabbed his arm.

“What is going on? What happened?”

“Nothing,” Steve said, and a jagged laugh fell from his lips. “_Nothing_. And every time I think something might--” He yanked his arm out of Tony’s grip and shook his head. “But I was wrong then, and I’m wrong now. It doesn’t matter. Forget it.”

“Wrong about what?”

“Figure it out, Tony,” Steve snapped. “You’re supposed to be a genius.”

Tony drew in a breath. He blinked. Something was dawning in his eyes, something like realization. Steve didn’t look away, but a battalion of butterflies were suddenly loose in his stomach, flapping their many wings, trying to get out.

“And you’re supposed to be brave,” Tony said softly. “Aren’t you? Isn’t that part of the whole super-soldier thing? Bravery?” He was teasing again, his voice said so, but underneath it, Steve sensed a deadly seriousness. He’d seen this behavior before during missions, but to have it directed at him now when it was just the two of them alone in a room locked against any intruders took Steve’s breath away. He was nervous, but he had never been more aware of his own physicality. The fact that he was both bigger and stronger than Tony, the fact that he could do whatever he wanted to him, was very much on his mind, but Tony wanted control. That was obvious. Steve let him have it. For the moment, at least, Steve let him have it.

Tony stepped closer. That dawning look in his eyes had been replaced by something else, something hot and knowing. “You’re killing me with that look, soldier,” he said. “Whatever puppy dog you borrowed that from needs to be put down Old-Yeller-style ASAP. It’s clearly a threat to national security.”

He reached up and laid his hand against Steve’s cheek, his thumb caressing the top of the high cheekbone. Steve turned his face into Tony’s palm. Just a little, just enough to feel his breath against his skin. 

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“We’re on the same page, aren’t we?”

The words came out on a shuddery breath, “God, I hope so.”

“Let’s find out,” Tony said, and pressed his mouth lightly against Steve’s.

At first, it wasn’t really even a kiss. At first, it was just two sets of lips brushing against each other, barely touching, softly, so softly, it was like the touch of a feather.

“Is this the page you were on, Steve?” Tony asked against his lips.

Steve’s paralysis and control broke at the same time. He slid his arm around Tony’s waist as he’d dreamed of doing so many times, and spun them around. He pressed himself fully against Tony, capturing him between the door and his own body. Tony took in a sharp breath and clutched Steve’s shoulder with one hand. The other came up and knotted itself in Steve’s hair.

“This is a good page,” Tony said. “I like this page. We need to stay on this page for a very long time.”

Steve’s heart pounded in his ears, his blood pumped wildly. He leaned closer still, tightening his grip on Tony even more. It was possessive, demanding. He couldn’t stop it. He didn’t want to. “You need to stop talking now,” he said, and then they were kissing, and it felt more than merely right--it felt like coming home.

The first few moments were a frenzy of lips and teeth and tongues, as they tried to fit years into their mouths. Steve’s arms were like steel, holding Tony in place, pinning him beneath his body. Tony’s hands were restive, running incessantly over Steve’s hair, his face, his shoulders, touching everywhere they could reach, leaving fire in their wake.

Tony pulled away a little, his breath coming in short gasps. “Wow,” he said, “who knew you had that in you, huh?”

“What did I say about the talking?”

“You love it.”

And he did. He’d been in love with Tony Stark for so long he couldn’t remember what it felt like not to love him. Even through the fights, the Accords, and everything that came after them, he’d still loved him. But how did you say that to someone? Especially someone like Tony who had been worshipped by people far better than simple Steve Rogers who wouldn’t back down from a fight, but never even went on a date that Bucky didn’t set up for him. But Bucky couldn’t help him now. He had to sink or swim on his own.

He opened his mouth. He didn’t know what he was going to say, just that Tony was looking at him with shining eyes, waiting for him to speak, waiting for him to say _something_.

“You’re right,” he whispered earnestly. “I do love it.”

Even to his own ears, it sounded like too much. It sounded like more emotion than a first kiss should illicit, and he loosened his grip on Tony’s waist and stepped back. “I’m sorry,” he said.

The effect was instantaneous. One second, Tony’s face was open, unguarded, his eyes filled with an easy desire, then in the blink of an eye, that guise of haughty coolness was back. That all-too-familiar mask of genius-billionaire-playboy-philanthropist was clouding his features. He ran his hands through his hair and straightened his t-shirt.

“It’s cool, Rogers,” he said. “Last night on Earth and all that. I get it.”

Steve shook his head. “No. No, Tony--”

Tony laughed sourly. “Hey, it’s alright. Any port in a storm, right? I mean, golden-boy Steve Rogers and worthless Tony Stark? It’s crazy. Howard’s probably rolling in his grave.”

Steve surged forward and gripped Tony’s wrist in one hand. The other went to the side of his neck, holding it firmly. Tony’s pulse jumped beneath his fingers in both places. Steve felt like someone a lot stronger than Tony had just punched him in the face. He knew he and Tony had some things in common, but he had never realized blinding insecurity was one of them. Cold hate coursed through his body as he stared into Tony’s eyes. Hate for Howard, hate for Obadiah Stane, hate for everyone who had ever made Tony feel like he was less than worthy. Including himself. _Especially_ himself.

“You are not worthless,” Steve said. “You’re amazing. You’re perfect. You are the kindest, most generous person I have ever met, and if I ever, for even one second, made you think differently, then I really do deserve to be hit with a full blast.”

Steve eased his grip but did not let go. He stepped closer until there was a bare inch between them. His hand slipped into Tony’s and folded their fingers together. “I’m not sorry about what just happened,” he whispered, lowering his head until his forehead was pressed against Tony’s. “I’ve wanted that for so long, but I didn’t know how to tell you, and now I’m scared to death that it’s too late.”

Tony looked up at him. His Tony. “It’s not,” he said, and then he kissed him.

It was slow and gentle but extremely thorough, his mouth warm, his tongue soft. This was what Steve had been born for, what he’d went into the ice for, and why he’d come back out again, for this shared breath, this warm, wonderful person in his arms. It was everything he had dreamed of, but this was better because it was real this time.

He didn’t know how long they stood there, intertwined. All he knew was that Tony tasted like sugar-laced coffee and smelled like some spicy cologne that made him think of dark cobblestone alleys and early-morning sunrises. He knew that when he slid his hand under Tony’s t-shirt, the skin at the small of his back was smooth and hot. He knew that he wanted him in every way imaginable and he knew that once he had him, he’d never be able to let him go again.

What he didn’t know was how long FRIDAY had been calling Tony’s name before she finally said his instead.

“Captain Rogers?”

He broke the kiss at last. “FRIDAY?” he said, then closed his eyes as Tony’s lips touched his jaw. 

“Captain Rogers, if you could get Mr. Stark’s attention, please?”

“He already has my attention, FRI,” Tony said against Steve’s throat. “It’s you I’m ignoring.”

Steve ran his hand through Tony’s hair. “Maybe it’s important,” he said into his ear.

“I can’t think of a single thing that could be more important than what we’re doing right now.”

“You know that’s not true.”

“I think you’re underestimating yourself, Cap.”

Steve smiled, feeling happier than he ever had in his life. “Still…”

Tony lifted his head. “Ugh. Fine. Yes, FRIDAY, what is it, dear?”

“Colonel Rhodes has been trying to get into the training room for the last ten minutes.”

“Tell him I’m busy.”

“I did, boss, but he’s getting very insistent.” She paused. Steve thought it was purely for effect and smiled. Of course, Tony’s creation would be dramatic. “He’s threatened to blow in the door if you don’t open it in thirty seconds.”

Tony dropped his head theatrically against Steve’s shoulder. “Fuck my life,” he muttered, and Steve laughed.

“Let him in, Tony.”  
  
“You let him in.”

“I can’t. FRIDAY’s ignoring my requests, remember?”

“Like I said, fuck my life.”

“Come on, Tony.”

“Boss?”

Tony narrowed his eyes at Steve. “You owe me.” Steve nodded. “FRIDAY, let Rhodey in. And do whatever Captain Virtue here asks from now on, okay? Pretty please?”

“You got it, boss.”

Steve wrapped his arms around Tony and squeezed once before releasing him. “Don’t be too hard on her,” he said. “If it wasn’t for her, you’d be sulking in the lab right now.”

“I wouldn’t be sulking. Bruce is down there,” Tony said lightly. “He’s enthusiastic enough, but the Hulkiness of it all makes it a little rough for my taste.”

Steve flashed surprised eyes at Tony. “You two haven’t-? Have you?”

Tony kissed his cheek and patted his arm. “I don’t kiss and tell, baby,” he said. “It’s tacky. Rhodey! What’s this I hear about you threatening to shoot my door down?”

“You two have been down here a long time,” Rhodey said, coming in and glancing around the room. He looked at Steve then Tony, scrutinizing each of them in turn. “I’m not seeing any blood. And you’ve both got all of your limbs intact, so I guess that’s a good sign.”

“Yes, we were excruciatingly civil and used only our words, right, Cap?” Tony said, tipping Steve a wink.

“Yeah,” he answered, blushing, “all words. All civil.”

Rhodey stared hard at Steve. “You’re looking a little flushed, Cap.”

Steve opened his mouth, but Tony overrode him. “He was working out. I helped. The things he can do…” Tony slung an arm around Rhodey’s shoulder. “It’s a shame you weren’t down here to see it.”

Steve ducked his head, his cheeks flaming with embarrassment and pure joy.

Rhodey’s eyes flicked between the two of them. “This is weird. What the hell’s going on?”

“Oh, Rhodey, do we need to have that talk about boundaries again?”

“Boundaries? Are you kidding me? I can’t even count how many times you’ve burst in on me in the shower to show me cat videos or climbed into my bed in the middle of the night to spoon me. Don’t talk to me about boundaries!”

Steve laughed as Tony pinched Rhodey’s cheek. “Aww. Ain’t he the cutest?”

Rhodey knocked his head against Tony’s, grudgingly and affectionately. “And don’t you forget it.”

Watching the two of them together reminded Steve so much of he and Bucky that his heart broke all over again. If Thanos was coming--and he was--then this might really be the last night on Earth for some of them. It wasn’t just Tony and himself that was going through this, it was all of them, all of them that were left, Rhodey included. Steve felt a flush of shame. He’d been selfish. Seeing Rhodey and Tony huddled together made him realize just how much.

“I’m going to go,” he said.

“No,” Tony said immediately, putting his hand on Steve’s arm. “No. Stay.”

“I can’t. I’ve still got some stuff to go over. I need to study the schematics for the ship that Nebula gave us.”

“You’ve been over it a hundred times."

Actually, he had committed it all to memory the second time through. He could pilot the damn thing if he needed to, let alone know where the armory was. But Tony didn't need to know that.

“Better to be over-prepared than under,” he said. “But I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Steve. I want you to stay.”

“No, I really should go. Walk me out?”

Steve turned to Rhodey without waiting for an answer and held out his hand. Rhodey shook it, then pulled him into a gruff one-armed hug. Steve returned it, pleased. “You guys don’t get too crazy down here,” he said.

“No promises, Cap.”

“I didn’t expect any.”

Steve walked out of the gym. Tony followed, staying a step behind him the whole way. When they reached the stairwell and the door closed behind them, Steve reached for Tony’s hand. He gave it reluctantly.

“Why are you leaving?” Tony asked.

“Because Rhodey needs you.”

Tony sighed. “Don’t you?”

Steve stepped closer. “Of course, I do,” he said. “I always need you. I’ll never not need you. But he’s your best friend, and you two have known each other a lot longer than you and I have.”

“This is about _dibs_?” Tony asked incredulously. “You’re leaving because you think Rhodey’s got dibs on me?”

Steve shrugged. “Well...yeah. Kind of.”

“That is high-level ridiculousness.”

“Maybe,” he said, “but that doesn’t change it. He needs to be with you, and I think you need to be with him, too. It’s important.”

Tony closed his eyes and nodded. Steve felt a little pang of regret but quashed it at once. He knew this was right. He didn’t like it, but he knew it.

“Come here,” he said, and pulled Tony closer. He kissed his forehead, his cheekbone, then his lips, lingering just a moment before pulling away. 

“Steve,” Tony said. “Stay. Please.”

The simplicity of the words shook Steve’s resolve to the core. He wanted nothing more than to stay. Or better yet, take Tony with him up to his room and to his bed, but he couldn’t.

“I’ll see you in the morning?”

“Sometimes I hate your fucking moral fiber.”

“I know. Me too.”

“But I love it, too.”

Words trembled on his lips, those three little words that he’d held in his heart for so long, but he held them back. If he said them, he’d come undone and nothing would be able to stop him from taking Tony away, not just from this dim stairway, but out of the building and down the street. To where? It didn’t matter. As long as the two of them were together, it would not matter where. And if Thanos did come and the rest of the world turned to ash, it would almost be worth it if he could die in Tony’s arms.

Instead of saying them, Steve kissed him again--one last time to pay for all. “I will see you in the morning, won’t I?” he asked. “Thor said something about a warrior’s feast?”

Tony groaned and put his head against Steve’s chest again. “Please tell me he’s not going to be slaughtering a fatted calf in our living room.”

“I wish I could,” Steve said and kissed the soft juncture of Tony’s neck and shoulder.

“Do that again,” Tony said, and Steve did, biting down a little before letting him go.

“_Our_ living room?”

Tony shrugged. Steve could have sworn a blush of his own stained Tony’s cheeks. “You live here too, don’t you?”

“Do I?”

“If you want.”

“I want,” Steve said. “I want.”

Tony nodded. “Okay, then. Fatted calf at eight a.m. sharp.”

“Sounds good to me. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, soldier.”

Steve took the stairs two at a time, but he wasn’t sure if his feet touched them at all. When he neared the top, he stopped and said, “FRIDAY? Are you there?”

“I’m here, Captain.”

He shuffled his feet a little, embarrassed, but oh, so happy. “Hey, thank you for that. The protocol?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Captain. I was just doing my job.”

Steve nodded, smiling. “I wish there was something I could do for you. For taking care of him. And me.”

There was a pondering silence, then her voice again. “Daisies in the kitchen would be nice,” she said.

“Really? Daisies?”

“They would brighten the room.”

Steve nodded again. “Anything for you, FRI,” he said, and opened the door.

He stepped out of the stairwell and onto the common floor. It was quiet, deserted. A couple blankets lay draped on the sofas and an abandoned can of Coke sat on the coffee table. Steve smiled a little as he folded the blankets. Bruce had almost certainly been under one of them, and Rocket had probably been using the other one. He’d taken to building little nests for himself in the corner chair. This bit of camaraderie, even felt second-hand, was pleasant and familiar. They’d need it tomorrow. They’d need to be together, need to be a team again. He and Tony were going to be a big part of that.

Steve tucked the blankets away in the armoire in the corner and snapped off the lamp. Outside the windows, New York stretched like a dream below him. He did look out this time, and even though it wasn’t as bright as before, it was still beautiful. The people down there, those thousands of dots of light, knew nothing of the battle that was coming. Their lives went on the same as they had since the snap, and they would know nothing different until tomorrow. Steve didn’t know whether he envied or pitied them that.

His thoughts turned to Bucky again, his oldest friend, his dearest friend, and then to Sam and Wanda who had stood by him when no one else had. Natasha was the only one left of his little family of rogues, and he missed her keenly. He hoped wherever she was, she was with Clint tonight, and just like Tony and Rhodey, that was only right. They’d been partners and friends long before she and Steve had ever even met, but the loss of her still stung. They’d grown so close during those months on the run, and many nights had found them huddled together under a threadbare blanket or on a shitty motel bed, pressed together for warmth and comfort.

An almost insurmountable need to see her washed over him, but he fought it off. Clint’s entire family was gone. Nat was all he had left in this world. Even if it hurt him, Steve understood. His own loneliness was nothing new anyway. It was like his shadow, dark, insubstantial, and constant. He’d learned to live with it long ago.

When he could put it off no longer, Steve walked down the hallway to his room. He sighed and rested his hand on the doorknob. He thought of Tony again down in the gym with Rhodey. He wondered if they were having a drink and talking about old times, reminiscing about stories that were shared just between the two of them, or if they were talking about tomorrow and what would happen. If they won, Bucky would come home. So would Pepper. Where would that leave this thing between them? This tiny, flickering candle flame they’d lit tonight? Steve could still smell Tony on his clothes, still taste him on his tongue, could he give that up? He’d lost Peggy when he went into the ice, his one chance at happiness. Could he lose Tony too?

Steve pushed the thought gently away and opened the door, steeling himself for a long, lonely night. He’d left the bed tightly made this morning, but now the blankets were rumpled. A bare shoulder and a lock of hair peeked out from beneath them. Steve’s breath caught in his throat as she shifted then stilled again.

Even in the dim light, he knew the shape of her body under those blankets. He knew that shoulder. He knew the sound of her breath. Tears came, all unbidden to his eyes, and he thought he had cried more in the last twenty-four hours than he had since Peggy died. But he didn’t mind. These tears didn’t sting.

He crossed to the bed and stood looking down on her. She’d let her hair grow over the last few years and it spread out on the pillow like a red-gold fan. Her lips were the plump cherry red he had kissed before she went away. Her skin the same milk-white.

He wiped his eyes then reached down and touched her cheek. Her eyes opened, and the lights from the city outside the window were just bright enough for them to see each other.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi.”

“You’re back.”

“I missed you.”

“Where’s Clint?”

“In my room, asleep. He’s exhausted. I don’t think he’s slept...at all, probably since it happened.”

“Don’t you want to be with him?”

Natasha reached out and grasped his fingers, tugging them gently and repeated, “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.”

“Come to bed,” she said.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” She pulled back the covers and Steve climbed into the big bed beside her. He curled his body around hers and she nestled into the curve of his arm.

Her fingers strayed to his cheek and stroked languidly. “I miss the beard,” she mused.

“You said it made me look like a lumberjack.”

“I believe I said, ‘sexy lumberjack’.”

“I don’t remember the ‘sexy’ part.”

She hummed, a pleasant vibration against his chest. "All lumberjacks are inherently sexy, Steve. I shouldn't have to say it."

“Hmm. If I'd known that I wouldn't have shaved,” he whispered.

Natasha laughed, softly. “You’re such a tease.”

A comfortable silence stretched out between them. A hundred questions flashed through his mind--where had she been? When did she get back? How long was she staying?--but none of them really mattered. All that mattered was that she was here now. The sounds of the city reached his ears, but it was far away, unimportant next to the sound of her easy respiration. He nuzzled the crook of her neck, smelling her skin, taking comfort in her mere presence.

“Are you okay?” she murmured sleepily. “Bruce said Tony was going to look for you.”

“I’m fine. We’re fine, I think.”

“Really?”

Steve smiled, thinking about Tony and the way he’d felt in his arms. “I think so.”

“No fights?”

“One, but I really do think it’s okay now.”

“That’s good.”

“What about you? Are you alright?”

“I talked to Rhodey. Clint’s going in with me and we’ll take down as many of the bastards as we can.”

He sighed and closed his eyes. “You don’t have to fight, Nat.”

“Oh, Steve. Honey, we all have to fight.”

He tightened his grip on her. “Well, I wish you didn’t.”

“It’s what I was trained for.”

Steve thought of that night on Clint’s farm with Tony. He thought of Tony telling him Erskine and Howard were dead. He thought of the little surge of freedom he’d felt at the thought. He thought of the words Tony had said, the words that had both absolved Steve and made him fall in love. He said them to Natasha now.

“All of the people who trained you are gone, Nat. You can do whatever the fuck you want.”

She was quiet for a moment. He let her think, just holding her, taking in her scent. Peaches and cream. It was perfect.

“I want to bring our friends home,” she said, at last.

Steve nodded. “Then, I guess we fight.”

“I guess so.”

She shifted against him. “Remember that night in Brussels?”

Steve snorted laughter. “In the barn? Wanda couldn’t sleep because she kept hearing mice everywhere.”

“And that cow got out and licked Sam’s face.”

Steve laughed again. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone scream so loud.”

Natasha smiled wistfully. It had been hard, the four of them on the run, but it had been good, too. It had brought them closer. It had made them a family.

“I miss that sometimes,” Nat said. “The four of us. I know that’s an awful thing to say.”

“It’s not,” he said, shaking his head. “I miss it, too.”

She turned on her side, facing him. Her breath was light on his mouth as she reached for him, her lips a feather-touch. “I love you,” she whispered. “I just wanted to tell you that before tomorrow.”

He pulled her against his chest, feeling almost absurdly touched by her words. “I love you, too, Nat.”

“Say it’s going to be alright.”

He closed his eyes and thought of Tony and Pepper and Bucky. “It’s going to be alright.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“That’s what I hear.”

Natasha gave him a final squeeze then snuggled down in his arms again. One rogue finger traced along the smooth line of his jaw. “I really do miss your beard,” she said drowsily.

“Yeah. I liked it, too.”

“Promise me if we win, you’ll grow it again.”

His eyes closed and he smiled. Tony would hate it, but Nat _had_ said all lumberjacks were sexy. Maybe he could bring him around. “Okay,” he said.

Steve wasn’t sure if she heard him. Her fingers were still on his cheek, but they were still, just a soft pressure. He folded his own fingers around them and brought them to his mouth. He kissed the tips, then kissed the hollow of her temple. Her heartbeat was soothing in his ears, her arms a safe, peaceful place.

He was starting to drift. He could feel it happening, and went with it. As sleep enfolded him, it wasn’t Thanos he thought of. It wasn’t Natasha, or Peggy, or Bucky, or even the softness of Tony’s mouth on his. No, his last conscious thought was of Stormbreaker and that scorching current that galvanized his arm when he touched it. Could he do it? Could he possess that much power or would the force of it simply tear him apart from the inside out? His fingers closed and a phantom voltage tingled through his muscles--inside his muscles, as if it lived there instead of the axe’s haft.

_ I could do it,_ he thought. _Of course, I could._

He opened his eyes, startled in the gloom. The thought was his own, but it had seemed to come from outside of himself, and for a moment, he thought he saw the image of a man standing on a green bluff, the deep blue of the ocean behind him. One eye was covered by a patch, the other bored into Steve’s eyes, into his soul. Even though the man was old, he exuded a vigorous strength that was almost frightening. And then Steve saw himself on a dark, broken field, ash and blood and rubble surrounding him. He saw himself with his shield in one hand, and Stormbreaker in the other, saw himself lift it high, saw himself lit in a corona of lightning.

_The power is in the wielder, not the weapon._

The thought came from everywhere and nowhere, from the man on the bluff--_Odin,_ Steve thought wildly--from the city outside, from the very air he breathed. And from himself. Because it was his thought, too. More than a thought. A knowledge so basic and yet so divine it was as if it was carved into his bones.

Natasha stirred fretfully beside him, a moan escaping her lips. Steve looked down at her, and in an instant, it was gone--the power, the visions, the righteous fear--and it was just him again. Just plain old Steve Rogers from Brooklyn.

He touched Nat’s arm, soothing it with it with gentle fingers. “Shh,” he whispered, “it’s okay,” and she subsided against him once more.

He held her, burying his face in her hair. Sleep was coming again, and he welcomed it, but that knowledge was still there inside him, a little flame of truth.

_ I could do it,_ he thought again. _ I could._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update will probably be Thursday. Thanks to all!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A warrior's feast, then cuddles, then, you know, more angst...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since it's Thanksgiving here in the States, I just wanted to take two seconds to say thank you again to everyone reading this! I had a pretty rough year, and writing these six silly little stories was one of the few things that really kept me going. Now, sharing them with you lovely people has made it all the more worthwhile. Thank you so much! Here we go...

They came into the kitchen in singles and pairs and took their places around the room. Thor got there first with Bruce and Rocket. They did not have a fatted calf, but they cooked a mound of eggs, a mountain of bacon, and dozens of pancakes. Bruce brewed tea, and Rocket started coffee, a chore he had become very good at, much to Tony’s delight.

Natasha came next, then Clint, and the pair curled up together on the same chair, Clint’s head on her shoulder, Nat’s arm curled protectively around him. Scott came in next and perched on the counter with a cup of coffee. Nebula followed and sat at the table, her black eyes moving restlessly. They only settled when Tony and Rhodey came into the room. Tony sat next to her and nodded in response to her silent questions. She squeezed his wrist with fingers made from Tony’s own nanotech and relaxed. A little.

Steve came last and hesitated outside the door, looking in. His heart expanded at the sight of everyone inside and grieved for all those who should be here and were not. That was mostly on him. He’d known it since the moment the burner-cell vibrated in his pocket and Bruce’s scared voice spilled out the story of Thanos and what it meant for all of them. He took a lot of the responsibility for the chasm that existed between one half of the team and the other. He had been their leader, the one they looked to for a cool head and a clear-cut plan. He had failed them. He had failed them all.

He wasn’t their leader anymore. If anyone was, it was Rhodey. He was a good tactician and had a strong will. He was the epitome of what Steve was supposed to be: a soldier with a good heart. Steve admired him, and he would follow him into war with no questions asked. But was Steve worthy of entrance here? Could he enter this familial circle or was he still that fugitive rogue who had left then stayed away too long, allowing for the destruction of billions?

Thor answered the question for him. He saw Steve in the doorway, and held out his hand, beckoning him inside.

Steve drew in a breath and crossed the threshold. Nat smiled up at him and Clint did the same. Bruce shook his hand. Thor hugged him, and the room felt warmer, the sun brighter, his heart lighter. There was trust here, and friendship, and acceptance. Things he was sure were lost, he found here again in this room.

Steve poured a cup of Bruce’s tea and pulled out a chair. He met Tony’s eyes across the table. Tony raised his eyebrow and Steve could hear the words in his head, a silent conversation that solidified his place here.

A raised eyebrow: _Are you okay?_

A shrug and a nod: _I guess. You?_

A smile: _Never better, soldier._

Beneath the table, Steve felt a light pressure against his ankle and Tony gave him the smallest of winks.

Steve exhaled as they began to pass food around the table.

This was where he belonged. This was his family. This was home.

  
They began to leave after the food was gone. There was still not much talk, but Steve heard Nebula and Rocket pass a few words as they left the room and Scott asked Thor about the eggs--”Did I taste goat cheese? That was awesome.” Bruce skulked around the doorway, letting Tony and Rhodey pass, until Natasha stood up. Steve saw simple longing in his eyes when he followed her out and he rooted him on, silently.

At last, it was just Steve and Clint left. Clint fiddled with the saltshaker, spilling a few grains onto the table. He traced a finger through them.

“Throw some over your shoulder,” Steve said automatically. Clint looked up, surprised, and smiled sadly. He pinched a bit in his fingers and threw it over his left shoulder.

“For luck,” he said. “Laura used to say that.”

“So did my mother.” Steve stacked a few plates. “It’s good you came back,” he said.

“Where else did I have to go?” Clint asked, and Steve nodded in perfect understanding.

“That’s why I came back too.”

“Nat said you went to some meetings.”

“I did.”

“Did they help?”

“No,” Steve answered, then shrugged. “But I didn’t really want them to.”

“I didn’t go to any meetings.”

Steve knew what he’d been doing to cope. “Did _that_ help?”

“Sometimes.”

Clint stood up. His fingers brushed the salt again. “Do you think they’re hurting? Wherever they are?”

Steve shook his head. “No. I think they left all the hurt here.”

“With us.”

“That’s right.”

Clint nodded and touched Steve’s arm as he walked out.

Steve watched him go, then reached across the table and took a pinch of the spilled salt in his fingers. He tossed it over his shoulder. They’d need all the luck they could get.

He stood up and cleared the dishes, then ran hot water in the sink. There was a dishwasher, and he wasn’t above using it, but he liked the methodical act of washing by hand. It was soothing.

“You don’t have to do those.”

“I know,” Steve said. “I don’t mind.”

Tony came up behind him and wrapped his arms around his waist. He rested his head against Steve’s back for a bit, then put his chin on his shoulder. Steve stopped washing and stood still with his hands dangling in the water, just enjoying the feeling of Tony pressed against him.   
  
“Is this okay?” Tony asked. “I mean, are we people who cuddle? I’m not crossing a line, am I ?”

“I don’t really know where the lines are,” Steve said. “But I’m pretty okay with this if you are.”

“I’m very okay with this.”

“Are you sure?” Steve teased. “If I recall, you told me I was a terrible cuddler once.”

Tony groaned softly. “I knew you were going to throw that back in my face, Rogers.”

Steve laughed, not even minding the “Rogers”. It sounded different when Tony was this close. “Super-serum, super-memory.”

“How about you be super-nice and just forget I said that? I try really hard not to remember the times I act like a dick. That’s why my memory’s so spotty.”

“I don’t want to forget. It’s good. If you hadn’t said it, we probably wouldn’t have ended up here.”

“Or we would have gotten here a lot sooner.”

Steve shrugged. “At least we got here.”

“You’re in an awfully pleasant mood for somebody who’s probably going to die today,” Tony said.

Steve leaned his head back against Tony’s. He _was_ in a pleasant mood. There was none of the low-grade fever jumping and sizzling through his veins like there usually was pre-mission. He felt an air of quiet contentment. Part of it was Tony, part of it was Nat being home, part of it was all of them being together this morning, but none of that could account for the entirety of the peace he felt. Most of it was that he knew they were going to win. He’d woken up with the knowledge inside of him, nestled in his brain like a slumbering animal. He knew something else too--someone _was_ going to die today. It might as well be him. It should be him. He’d lost Bucky and Sam and Wanda and so many others, but they were coming home. If the cost was his life, he’d pay it. Gladly.

“I’ve had a good run,” he told Tony, brushing his fingertips along the arm that held him. “Especially last night. With you. I’d be going out on a high, you know?”

Tony released him abruptly and leaned against the counter. He rubbed his face with his hands.

“Tony?”

“I was kidding,” he said wearily, “and you’re talking about dying like it’s nothing.”

“This is war, Tony,” Steve said. “There are going to be casualties.”

“And you’re pretty determined to be one of them, aren’t you?”

“I”m not determined. I’m just prepared. Most soldiers are.”

“I told you before, Steve, we’re not soldiers.”

Steve grasped Tony’s arms in his hands and tried to catch his eye. “You’re not, but I am. I signed up for this. A few times.” He laughed a little. “I said I was from _Jersey_, for god’s sake, so I could sign up for this.”

“_That_ isn’t _this_, Steve.”

“You’re right. It’s not.” He cupped the back of Tony’s neck with his hand. “But it almost is. Hitler murdered thousands because of some grand vision he had. This guy...this guy dusted billions, Tony, _trillions_. And for what?” Steve shrugged. “Another grand vision. No one could fix what Hitler did, but if we can undo what Thanos has done, maybe that’s worth a few lives.”

“And what if it’s me who dies?” Tony asked. “Or Nat? Or Bruce? You’re telling me you’d be fine with that?”

“I won’t let that happen.”

Tony laughed bitterly. “I don’t even think you realize how fucking crazy you sound, do you? It’s okay for you to die, but not us? I can’t even begin to fathom how that makes sense in your mind.”

“You said it yourself: you’re not soldiers.”

Tony blinked rapidly. “God, Steve, I just...I'm speechless right now."

Steve reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Steve raised one finger and began pushing buttons. “You? Speechless? I’m just calling a press conference. Don’t mind me.”

Tony glared at him. "You are such a dork. Dad-jokes are never okay, Steve. They’re not funny.”

Steve slid his arms around Tony’s waist. “Come on,” he said, nuzzling the base of Tony’s throat. “It was a little funny.”

“It was the opposite of funny,” Tony said, but his hands had begun to roam up Steve’s back, pulling him closer. He shivered as Steve’s teeth closed lightly on his earlobe. “So, this is how you win arguments? You’re not exactly following the rules of war, _soldier_.”  
  
“You’re still keeping score?”

“Maybe.”

“Who’s winning now?”

“I thought I was.”

Steve bent his head against Tony’s shoulder and held him. “You are winning,” he said. “I don’t want to fight.”

“I don’t want to fight either.” He smoothed his fingers along the back of Steve’s neck. “I know we don’t see eye-to-eye but I’m with you on this, baby, okay? There’s too much at stake for us to be at odds.”

Steve tightened his grip on Tony. “I know.”

He didn’t say what they were both thinking because he didn’t have to. It was as clear in Tony’s voice as it was in his own head. If they’d been together before, this would not have happened. He shouldered that responsibility and he was sure Tony felt it, too. Because he owned part of it. Neither of them was blameless here, and they both knew it. But Steve didn’t want to think about that anymore. He’d thought about it for months, _years_, stewing over it, going over and over it in his head. Lying in an anonymous motel bed with a neon sign outside the window or bunking down in some shifty-eyed acquaintance’s attic, sometimes it was _all_ he could think about.

But that was the past now. That was another life, and here in this one, there were other things that he needed to think about, and other things they needed to discuss. But, oh, he didn’t want to do that either. All he really wanted was to stand here with his head on Tony’s shoulder while Tony scratched lightly up and down the back of his sweater. But he so rarely got what he truly wanted.  
  
“Hey,” Tony said in his ear.

“Yeah?”

“I think I just thought of a way to get us out of this whole thing.”

“What’s that?”

“I’ll just call you in sick.”

Steve breathed a laugh against Tony’s neck. “You think that’ll work?”

“Of course, it will. Just stay in bed all day,” he said, punctuating each sentence with small, careful kisses against Steve’s jaw. “Eat ice cream. Watch Judge Judy.”

“Mm. I do love her,” Steve sighed.

“I know you do.”

“Would you stay home with me?”

“I thought that was implied,” Tony said.

“That sounds nice.”

“Yeah, it does,” Tony said, hugging Steve close in his arms. “Maybe next time, huh?”

“Next time,” Steve echoed, and Tony must have heard something in his voice because he pulled back and looked into Steve’s eyes. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Next time. As in the time after this time. ‘Cause there will be one, right? ‘Cause neither of us is dying, right?” Steve looked down and Tony repeated, “Right?” and gave him a brisk shake.

“Tony--”

“I swear to Christ, Steve, if the next words out of your mouth aren’t ‘Anything you want, Tony’, somebody in this room _is_ going to die.”

“I want to say that,” Steve whispered.

“Then say it. Say that. Say exactly that.”

“I can’t,” he said, and Tony shoved him away. 

Steve brought a hand to his head and rubbed his temples with his thumb on one side and his middle finger on the other. He leaned against the counter and it suddenly came to him how many times he and Tony had been in this position in this room. He was tempted to ask FRIDAY to count them up. Just so he could keep a running tally. It seemed only fair--Tony was keeping score, after all.

Tony pulled a chair out and threw himself into it. He scrubbed his hands over his own face and looked up. “So? What is it now?”

His tone, all tired and hurt rather than venomous, slipped like a knife into Steve’s heart. He hated this, hated that he had to do this, but it was something that couldn’t be put off. The end was drawing near. Soon, someone would come and tell them it was time and then it would be too late. Steve couldn’t afford 'too late'. Not when the stakes were this high.

“When we fight,” Steve began, “we’re going to win. Everyone’s going to come home. I know it. I feel it. Don’t you?”

“This seems like a ‘but’ moment.”

“It’s not a ‘but’ moment. It’s an ‘and’ moment, because Bucky’s going to be one of those people. And so is Pepper.” Steve stopped, waiting for Tony to say something. When he didn’t, Steve went on. “And that’s going to make things--this--more complicated.” Steve looked at the blank slate of Tony’s face and nodded. “Right. Unless I’m reading more into it than there is. I do that. You know I do that.”

“You didn’t do that, Steve,” Tony said, and Steve didn’t think he’d ever heard him sound so defeated. “You know you didn’t. There’s something here.”

Relief washed over him, but it was cold comfort. “I thought about it last night--”

“No good conversation has ever had those words in it.”

“--and if we make it through this, I’m going to wait two weeks--”

Tony sighed harshly and raised his eyes to the ceiling. They looked suspiciously bright.

“--and then I’m going to ask you to dinner.”

Tony’s head snapped toward him. One tear fell and he scrubbed it away. “What--” he began then stopped as Natasha appeared in the doorway. She looked between the two of them, her face carefully neutral as she took in the scene.

“I’m sorry, guys,” she said, “but it’s time.”

“Two more minutes, Nat,” Steve said. “Please?”

“I’ll stall them.”

“Thanks.”

She left and Steve said, “Where was I?”

“You were asking me to dinner.”

Steve nodded as nerves began to flutter in his stomach. This was important, so important, and he didn’t want to mess it up. “Right,” he said. “Look, I’ll understand if you say no. It’ll be okay. I won’t make it weird for Pepper or the team, I promise. It’s just--” he stopped, breathing deeply once, then went on. “I tried not being around you, Tony, and I don’t want to do that anymore. I hated it. I _hated_ it, so if you decide that just being friends is what you want, then that’s okay. If I can just be near you, just see you and talk to you. It doesn’t have to be every day, even, just sometimes. If that’s what you decide you want, if that’s enough for you, I can make it be enough for me. I’ve made it be enough for me for years. I can keep doing it, I can. As long as you let me be close to you, I can love you quietly. No one will know.”

He reached out and touched Tony’s fingers. It felt like he was reaching not only across the couple of feet that stood between them, but across the years, as well. Back to that night when he’d held Tony’s sleeping hand in his. There had been so much possibility in that touch, so much promise, and even though a lot had changed between them, he hoped--prayed--that had not.

Tony’s fingers were cold in his, but they turned and clasped Steve’s. “But I _am_ going to ask, Tony,” he said, “and if you said yes, well, that’d make me the happiest guy in the world.”

“Steve…”

“We’re coming now, Nat,” he said, but his eyes never left Tony’s watchful face. When she was gone, Steve smiled. It was small, but it was there. He squeezed Tony’s hand then let it go. “We’d better go do this, I guess,” he said.

Tony stood up. He hadn’t said anything in a long time, and his face was dark, his brow furrowed, mouth turned down as he studied Steve with an intensity that almost made him uncomfortable.

Steve bore up under his scrutiny as long as he could, then he turned to go. Tony’s hand touched his arm and he halted immediately.

“Two weeks?” Tony asked quietly. 

“Two weeks.”

“Promise me, Steve. I want your word.”

Steve looked at him. In Tony’s face he saw everything he’d always wanted. He saw them laughing and arguing and waking up together in a sun-washed bed. In Tony’s face, he saw the reason he fought. In it, he saw his future.

He touched Tony’s cheek with fingers that trembled the slightest bit. “I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter in this story to go. I will probably post in the next couple days.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the end, and the aftermath...at least until the next story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go...

They were back. Everyone who was dusted was back. New York was now a flood of people, a sea of people, standing around, talking, looking, searching faces for someone they knew, someone they recognized, someone they loved. Voices called out names. There were tears of happiness, of confusion, of fear. Hands reached out, blindly grasping. Mothers found children, husbands found wives, and those who didn’t find anyone they knew, simply clung to each other. Strangers held hands, arms intertwined, tears were wiped away by unknown fingers, and it was the togetherness that mattered. That these people were home again, whole, complete, that’s what they knew now. That’s what they cared about.

No one noticed the small group of people on the hill in Central Park. There was no reason why they would. They were away from the crowd, and there was only three of them. No one noticed the way one lay on the ground or the way the other two knelt above him, whispering urgently. No one noticed that one of them was dying.

No one.

“How bad?” Natasha asked.

Sam fiddled with the closures on the suit, his face constricted with worry. Steve muttered, twisting his head. The pulse in his neck jumped and stuttered. “How do you--?”

“There. That buckle thing.”

Sam forced the buckle and undid the rest of the closures, then peeled the suit away from Steve’s torso. Nat clapped a hand to her mouth as a glut of blood, red and dark and thick, gushed from the wound in his side. His pelvis was twisted and oddly sunken as if someone had picked him up and wrung him like a dish towel. Sam glanced over to where the gray husk that had once been the Mad Titan laid and realized that was probably exactly what had happened.

Sam met Natasha’s eyes and saw the same truth reflected in them. He shook his head.

Steve’s eyelids fluttered and he writhed on the ground. More blood flowed. Nat pressed a hand against the gash, trying to staunch the flow, and Steve cried out. His fingers scrabbled on the grass, pulling out double handfuls. Under his breath, a guttural sound escaped his lips.

Nat leaned closer. “What, Steve?” 

“--Tony--”

“Where’s Stark?” Sam asked.

“He was here. He and Carol were circling, taking down Thanos’ army while Steve, Hulk, and Thor were fighting him on the ground. They were surrounding him, hemming him in. Thor and Hulk went for him and when Hulk grabbed him, Thor cut the gauntlet off. Steve ran for it and threw it to Hulk. He put it on and snapped.” She paused, breathing hard. “Thor flew up into the air, and Steve was left there alone with Thanos. There was lightning,” she said, “and thunder, and everything was dark.” She grasped Sam’s hand. “Thor threw the axe, and Steve caught it. He caught it, Sam. It was like they knew. Like they both just _knew_ he’d be able to wield it. He looked like a god, Sam. With that axe in his hands--” she broke off.

Sam glanced over at Thanos again. “Steve did that?”

“Yes,” she breathed. “Thor and Carol and Tony, they brought down lightning and repulsor blasts, and whatever it is that Carol has. Steve channeled it with the axe and aimed it at _him_,” she said, jerking her head at Thanos’ body. “Steve had the shield and Stormbreaker, and…” She stopped again and touched Steve’s shoulder, caressing him gently. “They kept getting closer to each other, and he grabbed Steve.” She wiped a tear away. “Next thing I knew, that bastard was on the ground and Stormbreaker was in his skull. I saw Steve stumble, but he said he was alright. He told Tony and Carol to get the last of them. He said not to leave any of them alive. Tony asked him if he was okay and he said yes. He said he’d be right behind them, but when they were gone, he just collapsed.” She grasped Sam’s t-shirt in her other hand. “And then you were here.”

They both looked down as Steve said Tony’s name again

“Give me your com-set. I’ll go find Stark. Stay with him.”

Natasha plucked the tiny bud out of her ear and put it into his hand, and then they were clutching each other. She pressed kisses, furious and brief, onto his cheeks and his mouth. “I missed you,” she whispered harshly.

He stood up, already fitting the com-set into his ear. “Who else is on this channel? Anybody I know?”

“Clint, Rhodey, and Lang.”

“I’ll find Stark, or at least somebody with eyes on him.” He looked down at Steve, then at Nat. “Keep him talking if you can. I’ll hurry.”

Natasha watched Sam run down the hill. He’d find Tony. She knew it. Sam would take care of it because Steve needed him to, and time was short.

She looked down and those startling blue eyes opened. Zemo had said there were flecks of green in them, but Natasha had never seen them. Over the years, she’d been more than just a casual observer of those eyes, and they were as perfectly ocean blue as they’d ever been.

“Hey,” she said, trying to smile. “Steve?”

He looked at her. A rill of blood ran from the corner of his mouth. “Peggy?”

“No, honey,” she answered, wiping the blood away. “It’s Natasha.”

He raised a hand to her hair and touched it. “Nat.”

“That’s right.”

He winced and thrashed on the grass. She held him down by the shoulders. The wound in his gut spouted fresh blood and he cried out in pain. “Don’t--Steve--don’t move. You have to stay still, okay? Please, Steve, don’t.”

“It hurts.”

“I know. I know, but stay still for me.” She was babbling, she knew she was babbling, but was powerless to stop it. All of her training, all of her carefully moderated inflections were torn asunder in the face of the scene playing out here. She was undone, shaken to the core in the bright April afternoon. Nothing she had endured in either the Red Room or her life outside of it had prepared her for this.

The tears she had held back began to fall unheeded as he quieted again.

“Where’s Tony?” Steve mumbled. “I can’t see him.”

“He’s coming. Sam went to get him.”

“Sam?”

“Yes.” She patted his chest, unsure if he was even entirely there.

His eyelids drifted closed, then snapped open again, blazing, aware, the pain forgotten. “Thanos,” he whispered and began to struggle, getting his elbows underneath him and shoving up, incredibly trying to stand, trying to get to his feet and finish the fight he didn’t realize he’d already won.

Natasha pushed against him. His skin was hot, burning even through the fabric of his undershirt. How could he be so hot? How could anyone be so hot without simply combusting? “He’s gone, Steve. Thanos is gone. It’s over. Look.”

She laid her hand against his cheek and turned his head. Hope and doubt warred with each other; the battle played out on his face. “Gone?” 

“Gone. We won,” she said, but looking at his ruined body, it felt like a lie.

“Danvers? She was here with me.”

“She’s fine.”

“Thor? _Tony?_ Oh my god, Nat, where’s Tony? Is he--” he coughed, sending blood flying in a spray.

“He’s okay, Steve, everyone’s okay.”

“Thanos’ army?”

“They’re gone.”

He clutched her hand, his fingers a vice-grip, grinding the bones together. “Are you sure? We have to be sure they’re all dead. If any of them are alive they could re-group.”

He coughed again, his grip on her tightened spasmodically. She winced but said nothing. If he needed a tether to this world, she would gladly be it. For as long as he needed her, she would be here and feel nothing but honored that it was to her that privilege fell.

“They’re gone,” she assured him when the coughing fit passed. “Carol, Thor, and Tony got the ones that were left.”

“You’re _sure_?”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. There was fresh blood on his lips, his chin, his cheek. Had it only been last night that she’d kissed those lips, stroked that cheek? It seemed like a lifetime now, a cold, lonely lifetime.

He lay back, panting, exhaustion etched on his face. “I’m not going to make it, am I?”

Her breath caught in her throat, but she wiped the blood away from his face again. “Yes, you are. You’re strong. And you’re stubborn. You can make it on that alone.”

His lips quirked in a little smile. She kissed the hand in hers and tasted blood. “And _I_ need you to make it. I’m playing the selfish-card, Steve. You can’t go because I need you here.”

“I’ll try, Nat,” he said. “But if I can’t...if it looks like I’m not going to be able to…” He looked into her eyes. No, there was no green. Just clear, crystal blue. “Don’t let them move me, okay? If I’m going to die, I want it to be here.”

She nodded again, fresh tears coursing down the soft curve of her cheeks. “Okay,” she mouthed, not knowing if he heard her or not. His eyes closed again. His chest rose and fell, rose and fell, but it wouldn’t go on much longer. He was fading.

She looked up into a blameless blue sky that was no match for Steve’s eyes, looking for Tony, begging him to hurry, all the while wondering if it might be better--easier--if he was too late. She hated herself for it, but couldn’t help it.

Even as she thought it, another voice called out. “Steve?” Natasha looked down the hill. She knew the voice, knew the line of the shoulder, the set of the jaw. She never went with Steve when he visited Wakanda, even though he asked her to. He didn’t question her about it and that was a good thing, because it was too complicated in her own mind to explain it. She had dreams, though, dreams where he chased her under that freeway overpass again and again with murder in his eyes. There were other dreams too. Dreams of a dark shape in a red room, watching her but never coming close enough to see, just a shape and a voice saying her name like it was saying it now, here on this hilltop with the man they both loved lying on the ground between them.

“Natalia.”

“Hello, James.”

He looked at Steve, a tender, broken look. “Is he--?”

“He’s alive,” she said, slipping unconsciously into Russian. He knelt beside Steve and took the hand Natasha was not holding.

“We need to get him to Wakanda,” he said, following her lead and speaking in their shared tongue. “Shuri can heal him. She’s got--what?”

Natasha shook her head slowly from side to side. “He wants to stay here. He said so.”

“He doesn’t know _what_ he’s saying,” Bucky protested. “We have to try. We can’t just give up.”

“We’re not giving up, James, but look at him. We could kill him just moving him to the bottom of the hill.”

He bowed his head, long dark hair falling in his eyes. His hand--his human hand, the one made of flesh and blood--hovered just above Steve’s chest. “I don’t know what to do,” he whispered.

Indecision fluttered through her body, making her shiver. She reached out and closed her hand over his. He looked at her with wild, grief-stricken eyes. “Sam went to find Tony,” she said. “Maybe with the suit--”

The grief fell from his face and what replaced it was dreadfully close to the cold, flat look she saw in her nightmares. More than once, Steve had comforted her when she woke from one of those, holding her and petting her hair until she could sleep again. She dropped his hand and stood up.

“Stark?” he asked. “He tried to kill him, Natalia.”

“A lot has changed since you’ve been gone. It’s different now. It’s different between them.”

He closed his eyes and clenched his fists. His breath was slow, methodical, and when he looked at her, his eyes were haunted. “Nothing ever really changes,” he said hollowly.

She knelt back down next to him and tentatively touched his shoulder. When she spoke, it was in English. “Some things do, James.”

On the ground between them, Steve made a choked, strangled sound. His eyelids fluttered, his shoulders heaved with effort. Bucky leaned down, supporting himself on his metal arm, the other holding Steve’s hand. “Steve?”

“Oh god,” Steve choked out. “She called you ‘James’.” He made another one of those harsh, garbled sounds and Bucky smiled. It changed his face completely, lighting it from the inside.

“What?” Nat asked, gripping him harder.

Bucky cocked his head at Steve. “This asshole thinks he’s funny.”

She looked between them, one dark, one light, both radiating a pure clear sort of energy. She and Steve were friends, but this was something else. She didn’t believe in soulmates, but there was an alchemy at work here that was beyond mere friendship, beyond love. Even being on the fringes of it, she felt exalted. She could not imagine what it must feel like for the two of them at the center of it. The thought was both frightening and divine.

Steve’s body fell back again, but he was smiling. “My-My mom was the only one who ever called you ‘James’.”

“Nah,” Bucky said. “Mary Sue McCarthy called me that sometimes.”

“Bullshit. When?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Bucky said, flicking his eyes at Natasha. “There’s a lady here.”

The humor slipped out of Steve’s face. He was still smiling, but now it was sad, tinged with nostalgia and regret. “Buck,” he said, and Bucky was shaking his head before he said another word. 

“No, Steve.”

“We both know there isn’t going to be a later.”

“Knock it off. Don’t talk stupid. You’re going to be okay.”

“No, I’m not. I think it’s the end of the line, Buck.”

Bucky blinked furiously. This wasn’t what he’d come back for. The years between he and Steve, all the time they’d lost, hung like an anchor around his neck. And the memories, they were heavier. And darker.

“We’re going to get you to Wakanda,” he said. “Shuri’s going to fix you.”

“No.” Steve’s eyes were soft, but his voice was as hard as stone, immovable. “No, I want to stay here. The sun feels nice. And the breeze. And it’s home, you know? We used to come here and feed the ducks, remember?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, wiping his eyes. “I remember.”

Steve reached for him. “Come here,” he said, and tugged him down until their foreheads were pressed together. “I love you, you know that, right?”

Bucky nodded without lifting his head. His tears fell onto Steve’s face like a baptism. 

“I’m sorry it took me so long to find you,” Steve whispered.

“I knew you would. I knew you’d never stop looking.”

Steve pulled him closer and kissed the side of his face with a gentleness that was heartbreaking in its fragility, then held him, just held him.

Natasha watched Bucky’s broad back shiver and quake within the circle of Steve’s arms. She wondered that Steve had the strength still to contain him, but he held on, solid, stable. If not for the paleness of his cheek and the brightness of the blood on his neck and the grass around him, no one would know that he was a dying man.

There was movement behind her, more felt than heard. “Sam,” she said, and went to his side.

“I finally picked up Lang. He said Stark’s com got damaged. Said he could only hear one word in ten, so he shut it down.”

“Is he coming?”

“Scott said he was with Peter, that spider kid from the airport, but he said he’d tell him.”

Natasha nodded. “Okay. Thank you for trying.”

On the grass, Steve murmured something into Bucky’s ear. He nodded and sat up, scrubbing his arm across his eyes. Steve let him go and Bucky stood up.

“He’s thirsty,” he said, coming toward them. “I’ll go find him some water.”

“I’ll go,” Nat said, but he shook his head.

“He wants you. Both of you.”

“Bucky,” Sam said, and touched his arm. Bucky kept walking, head down, eyes red, hair hanging, but he closed his hand on Sam’s shoulder as he passed. Sam smiled a little--it felt like a win.

Natasha took his hand. Steve was waiting but his shallow respiration said he wouldn’t be waiting much longer. A scientist would have said it was the serum that had kept him alive this long, but Nat knew that wasn’t entirely the case. Any normal man would have died the instant Thanos laid hold of him, but Steve wasn’t a normal man. He never had been. Dr. Erskine had seen that. Steve had been crushed, his insides turned into a thick soup, his body nearly torn in two, and still he held on. That wasn’t all the serum, though. It was _Steve_. It was his heart. The serum hadn’t changed that. It had enhanced his body, but not his spirit. That was all him. 

But there was sweat on his brow now. And his skin was so pale it seemed nearly transparent.

They went to him, hand-in-hand, and knelt in tandem like a couple ready to be wed. Natasha touched him and he opened his eyes with difficulty. He looked at her softly, then turned his gaze to Sam. He raised a wavering hand and Sam took it, unselfconsciously.

“Guess I won’t be running any more circles around you,” Steve said.

“I let you win, old man.”

“I knew that was it.” He coughed weakly. “Where’s Wanda?”

Sam shook his head. “I asked, but nobody’s seen her.”

“Vision?”

“He’s not coming back.”

Steve hitched in a breath and let it out in a rush. “Will you try and find her?” he asked. “If Vision’s gone, she doesn’t have anyone. She’s alone. We can’t let her be alone. We’re her family.” He blinked, and for the first time, Natasha saw tears in his own eyes. “_You_, I mean,” he said. “_You’re_ her family.”

“No, man,” Sam said. “_We._ It’s still we. It always will be.”

Steve nodded, his lips quivering. The tears over-spilled his lashes, turning those blue eyes into dark sapphires. “Take care of each other,” he begged, clutching their hands with panicky tightness. “God, please promise me you’ll take care of each other. Stay together. Don’t-Don’t slip away. It’s so easy to just...let people slip away. Promise me you won’t do that. Promise me you’ll find Wanda and the three of you will take care of each other.”

He flashed those eyes at Natasha, the full force of his still-considerable will commanding her silently. “I promise,” she wept.

“Sam?”

His own tears falling, Sam nodded. “Promise.”

“I love you guys,” Steve sighed. “Tell Wanda for me, too, okay? Please? Being with you, the three of you--” His head fell back onto the grass. His throat worked. He shuddered.

“Steve!” Nat cried, shaking him.

His eyes opened but they were cloudy, unfocused, all the strength in them slipping away. “Nat? Where are you?”

“I’m here, honey. Right here.”

“Tell Tony I tried to wait,” he muttered. “I just...got so tired. It got so dark. Tell him I wanted to stay. Tell him...I wanted him. For so long.”

A runner of scarlet escaped his mouth as he drew in another breath. The silence seemed very loud as they waited for the next one. Instead, they heard the unmistakable thunder of the Iron Man suit overhead. It flashed across the sky, the same red as the blood staining Steve Rogers’ mouth.

Tony streaked by then banked left and came back. He landed near Thanos’ body, the suit already disappearing, and started toward them. His foot connected with the broken shell of the Infinity Gauntlet. He kicked it out of his path without a glance.

He strode across the grass and dropped to his knees beside Steve. He ran his eyes over him, cataloguing the damage, the crushed pelvis, the heavy gash in his side still dribbling thick, ruby blood, assessing the percentage of internal damage, the probability of survival.

“Has he been moved?” he barked.

“No.”

“Please tell me you at least contacted medical evac.”

“Tony,” Natasha began.

He turned fierce eyes on her. “Did you?”

She lifted her chin and stared back, her gaze like a dagger. “No. He wanted to stay here. He didn’t want to die in some fucking hospital room.”

Sam touched her shoulder. “Nat. Don’t.”

She ducked her head, taking a breath just as Steve did the same. She put her hand on his chest, feeling the slow beat of his heart, taking strength from him, courage from him one last time. When she looked up, it was with all the kindness she could muster. Because it was what Steve would want of her. What he would do himself.

“I’m sorry, Tony,” she said gently. “But he did want to stay here. It was his choice.”

Tony looked down into Steve’s face then nodded. Steve took another shaky breath and Tony touched his cheek with a terrible tenderness. Natasha stood and pulled Sam up with her. Tony didn’t notice when they stepped away. For him, they no longer existed. His world had shrunk down to that little patch of grass, the hum of bees, the softness of Steve’s skin beneath the pads of his fingers.

He moved closer and carefully lifted Steve’s head so it could rest in his lap. Steve groaned then was still.

Shaking, calloused fingers moved through blond hair, smoothing it back from his brow. “Hey, soldier,” he whispered. “Open your eyes for me, huh?”

He didn’t think Steve would. He thought Steve was gone. Just like his father. Just like his mother. _Too late again, Stark,_ he thought. _Always too late. Still not enough even after all these years._ But then Steve was looking at him. Steve was breathing his name, and he smiled.

“Tony. You came.”

“Of course, I did.”

“I thought--”

“Shh,” Tony said. “It’s okay, baby, I’m here.”

Steve raised his hand and brushed the back of it along Tony’s jaw. Tony took it in his own and held it against his cheek, taking in the sensation of his touch, memorizing it, burning it into his mind, into his heart.

Behind them, Bucky reached the crest of the hill. Half a bottle of water hung limply from his hand. He stopped next to Natasha and Sam, looking at the pair on the ground uncertainly.

“It’s okay,” Nat said. “Let them have this.” Bucky nodded mutely, and she folded his hand into hers.

Tony turned Steve’s palm to his mouth and kissed his wrist. There was blood there, outlining the bracelets of fortune, but he did it anyway. He would do it every day, every hour, for the next hundred years if he could.

“Tony?” Steve’s voice was like the breeze, cool and soft. Tony leaned into it.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Will you stay with me?” His eyes gazed up at him timidly. “I don’t want to be alone like last time. It was cold. And dark.” His mouth trembled. His whole body trembled. “I was scared.”

Tony pressed his lips to Steve’s forehead. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Quiet spun out between them, heavy with feeling and a million things both said and unsaid. At last, Steve broke it.

“Do you think you would have said yes?” he asked.

Tony squeezed his eyes shut against the hot tears that threatened, then opened them again, and smiled. “Did you get any better at asking?”

Steve laughed a little, just a puff of breath between his lips. “I didn’t get much practice. There was really only one guy I ever wanted to ask.”

“It’s Bruce, right?” Tony grumbled. “Christ, that guy’s a slut.”

That laugh again, weak but fond, and his hand against Tony’s neck. “Shut up, Tony.”

Tony ran his hand through Steve’s hair again. The tears were there, a flood of them, a fucking torrent, but he would not let them fall. He grinned instead, a wicked little gleam in his eye. “Guess there’s only one way to know,” he said. “Ask me now, soldier.”

Steve looked up at him seriously. “Will you have dinner with me, Tony?”

Tony looked away, his face working. One tear fell and he wiped his cheek brusquely against his shoulder. 

“Tony?”

“Yeah?”

“How’d I do?”

“You were perfect,” Tony said, turning back with that smile. “Perfect.”

“Well? What do you say?”

Tony cocked his head, considering. 

“Tony?”

“Well, okay,” he said, as if relenting. As if he would not have said yes to anything and everything this man in his arms wanted. “But only if I get to pick the restaurant.”

Steve smiled. It was sweet in the westering sun. “Anything you want, Tony,” he whispered. “Anything you want.”

His eyes slipped closed. The tension in his shoulders eased and he slumped bonelessly in Tony’s lap.

“Steve?” Tony said, knowing it was too late, knowing Steve would never answer, knowing he’d lost the best thing he didn’t know he had.

Behind him, Bucky collapsed on the ground in tears. Natasha knelt next to him and took him into her arms as best she could. Sam hesitated only a moment before joining them, slipping one arm around Nat’s waist and the other across Bucky’s heaving shoulders.

Tony paid no attention to the sounds of Bucky’s broken sobs or the murmured words of the other two people there with him. He said his name again--”Steve”--tasting it on his tongue, trying to make it last, and held him tighter, afraid to let go because once he did, that would be the end.

A few years. Just a few years, and one night. That was what he had. That and a broken shield.

He thought about the hours that lay ahead, the long empty hours, the days, the weeks, the years. All of the time he had left to think about the way Steve felt in his arms, his eyes, his smile, his kiss…

  
_He and Pepper get married. Of course, they do. It’s a beautiful ceremony, small but luxurious. Rhodey is there, and Bruce. Happy walks her down the aisle and cannot stop crying. By the end of the walk, it’s almost as if _Pepper_ is escorting _him_. They drink champagne and dance. They talk and laugh. It’s perfect._

_ Tony retires. Whatever happens, whatever threats come along, the others handle it. After Thanos, none of it seems as bad. None of it is as hard._

_ When Pepper tells him she’s pregnant, Tony thinks about the cabin on the lake. It’s simple. Quiet. Howard bought it a long time ago and it sat empty for years, just one more property tax the accountant paid every year, one more paper Tony gives a cursory glance at before moving on to other things. But now, now with a baby on the way, he thinks about how peaceful it is there with the water and the flowers and the solitude. He makes some phone calls. He drives up and looks it over. The quiet is soft and welcoming. The sun slants through the trees creating complicated shadows on the ground. There’s a dock out into the lake. There’s a garden with a rock wall around it. He tells Pepper. He takes her up there and shows her. She agrees. They move in and Tony sighs with relief._

_ Morgan._

_ Morgan H. Stark._

_ He sighs again._

_ They’re content. Tony consults with Rhodey from time to time on projects, but he mostly stays home. He’s mostly a dad. He’s a husband too, but it’s Morgan that fills his heart with joy, and the older she gets, the better it gets because she starts to understand concepts and laugh at jokes and look at things with a light in her eye that is very much like Tony himself. She comes to the shop sometimes to watch him work and falls asleep on the leather sofa that used to be in his lab at the Tower. He carries her to bed and kisses her forehead._

_ He doesn’t think much about the old days. He’s always been a forward-thinker, a futurist, and now that his present is so good, he really doesn’t see the point in re-hashing the past. It’s over and done with. Not as important as the here and now. Pepper thinks so too. Keep the past in the past._

_ But sometimes he goes into the city. Sometimes he drives by the Tower, barely slowing, but looking up at it. Sometimes he visits his old haunts. Once or twice, he even goes out to Brooklyn._

_ He meets Natasha for coffee when he makes these excursions. She always hugs him and kisses him hello. They talk about work mostly._

_ Yes, things are okay._

_ No, there’s nothing they can’t handle._

_ Of course, she’ll call if she needs him._

_ She kisses him again when he gets ready to leave. Sometimes her eyes fill with tears when they say good-bye. Sometimes it’s his. They don’t let them fall, either of them, but they’re there. They wave as he drives away. He lets them fall on the way home. It’s okay. There’s nobody there to see._

_ He only goes to Arlington once. He doesn’t get out of the car. The rows of grave markers are too straight, too orderly, too blindingly white. He feels a tightness in his chest he hasn’t felt in years. His vision blurs. His hands shake. Panic like rat teeth. He drives away fast._

_ He rarely drinks anymore. That’s a blessing. And he never gets drunk. It’s only once when he allows himself to get a little tipsy. Just once._

_ They watch the fireworks over the lake, and then let off a few themselves. Tony lights the fuses and runs back, grabbing Morgan and holding her as red, white, and blue stars shoot up into the sky. They explode in showers of gold and rain down red sparks. They watch them, laughing and smiling. Morgan holds out her hand for a sparkler and Tony lights it for her. She isn’t afraid. She runs with it, leaving an afterimage behind her, a gold line hidden in a pocket of blank space. Tony shows her how to write her name in the air with it. He writes Pepper’s and his own. He writes Happy’s and Rhodey’s. He hesitates with it in his hand. It burns out before he writes anything else._

_ Pepper takes Morgan into bed after that. He watches them go, then goes into the kitchen and gets a bottle of Scotch and a glass. He doesn’t bother with ice. He never has._

_ He goes back out to the porch and sinks into one of the chairs there. He opens the bottle and pours. Two fingers. He adds a third. It’s quiet here, but he can hear music from the place down the road. It’s old jazz, one of those big band orchestra numbers with a woman singing. He can’t make out the words, just the plaintive, yearning tone of her voice, but suddenly, he’s crying._

_ He drinks his whiskey and cries his tears and thinks, just for a moment, of crystal blue eyes._

_ He pours another glass and thinks about a warm embrace, the arms around him firm, the lips on his own, soft._

_ He pours another and wonders what it would have been like if Morgan had been born a blue-eyed blonde and the person waiting in his bed at the end of the hall was an ex-soldier who was a stickler for healthy meals and bedtimes but a pushover on everything else._

_ He wonders what it would be like to go down that hall and find him asleep there, what it would be like to climb into bed next to him and nudge him until he woke up enough to put his arms around him. He wonders what it would be like to just wrap himself in the warm cocoon that was Steve Rogers and live out the rest of his life with him protective and secure all around him…_

  
“No. Hell no. Fuck that.”

Tony reached into Steve’s ear and pulled out his com-set. He shoved it into his own ear. “Rhodey? Rhodey, where the hell are you, man, I need you!”

“Tony?”

“Where’s Strange?”

“He’s here. He’s assisting with medical.”

“Get him _here_. Right now. I’ve got a situation. Tell him I need a portal and I need _him_.”

“Tony, what’s going--”

“Just get him here, Rhodey, I need a doctor and I need a portal right the fuck now!”

“Where are you?”

EPILOGUE

The car was nothing like the ones he usually drove. It was a Bentley, a big old dinosaur of a thing. It had belonged to Howard and had been in storage since he died. Tony brought it back to the Tower and set it up in the garage. He changed the oil and the sparkplugs and replaced some of the hoses. Minor stuff. Stuff a kid could do. He took it out for a drive when he was done, rolling down all the windows so the fresh air could come in. It helped a little, but he bought an air freshener just in case. It was strawberry. Not his first choice, but better than the musty scent of age that had been there before.

He liked the car. He liked the way it felt, like a tank in a battlefield, solid, safe, dependable. It rode smooth over the road, eating up miles and taking up space. It wasn’t exactly eco-friendly, but he kind of liked the looks he got when he drove it. Both the admiring and the scandalized. They made him happy in equal measure.

It was big inside and that was the reason he chose it. Big and comfortable. That was important. That was essential. 

He turned it up the long dirt driveway and let it coast down toward the house. It was small, but the lake was big and mirror-flat. The dock was there, just like he remembered, and the tall grasses contained in the rock wall were lush and green. There were wildflowers, a million of them painting the fields in real-life Monet watercolors. He shut the engine off and the quiet pressed in.

“What is this place?” Steve asked, beside him.

“Strange said you needed someplace quiet to convalesce.”

“Well, it’s definitely quiet.”

“We’ll consider that box checked, then.”

Tony got out and stretched. Steve wasn’t wrong: it was definitely quiet. Birds chirped in the surrounding trees and the breeze through the leaves seemed like the loudest sound out here. He looked across the lake. There were a few other houses around, but not many. He’d had FRIDAY do back-ground checks on all the neighbors. So far, everything looked good. There was one guy who was evading taxes, and a Mr. from one side of the lake was spending afternoon sack-time with a Mrs. from the other side, but that was all. Boring stuff, really. He’d keep checking, but they should be fine here, for now. Boring was what Steve needed. What they both needed.

Tony went to the back of the car and popped the trunk. He reached in, grabbed the chair, and wrangled it out. It unfolded easily and he rolled it over to Steve’s door.

“Ready, soldier?” he asked, opening the door.

“Yup. Just put it there. I’ll do it.”

“‘Kay.”

Tony moved the chair into position, set the brake, then stepped back. He watched as Steve gripped the arms and pulled himself into it. He got hung up on the footrest, but Tony left him alone. Steve reached down, balancing with one hand, and pulled his leg into place with a wince of pain. He settled back and just breathed for a minute, head bowed, eyes closed. Tony had no idea of the amount of pain that caused the wince or the deep breathing. Steve didn’t like to talk about it, and he didn’t press. But he knew it had to be a lot. Excruciating for a normal man, maybe. He found himself thanking any and all gods that Steve was not a normal man. He did that a lot now.

Finally, Steve spun the chair around and smiled. 

“You good?” Tony asked.

“So good.”

Tony nodded, his worry easing for now, and gestured at the place. “Well? What do you think? Howard bought it forever ago, but I don’t know when anybody ever actually stayed here. I partied here a few times when I was a kid, but since then…” He trailed off with a shrug.

Steve was silent. His eyes roamed from place to place--the lake, the boathouse, the meadows.

Tony licked his lips. Nerves were beginning to flutter in his stomach. “So, there’s the lake,” he continued, talking fast, the words spilling out of his mouth in an untidy jumble. “I mean, obviously, there’s the lake. Big-ass body of water is usually called a lake, right? The kitchen’s old, but everything works. Strange sent me copies of all your meds--don’t be pissed, I know it’s personal, I’m sorry, I just wanted to make sure you had what you needed, and to be fair, I’d probably be the one to go get them anyway, so I just saved a trip. Also, there’s a couple of those RZR ATV things out back. They’re death traps, but I saw a gang--like a literal gang, Steve, I think they were showing colors and everything--of ten-year-olds driving them when I came up before, so I had to get some. We can’t be the only kids on the block without toys, right?”

He stopped, breathing a little hard. Steve still hadn’t said anything, and the nerves were turning into a low-grade panic. “Steve?”

Steve turned innocent, slightly puzzled eyes up to him. “I thought you said we were roughing it?”

Tony laughed and put his hand on Steve’s shoulder, rubbing it. “We’re thirty miles from the nearest take-out and I had to rewire the entire place myself just so we could get Netflix. Trust me, baby, that’s rough.”

Steve nodded. “Rough enough,” he said, and looked back out at the lake.

“You don’t like it,” Tony said decisively. “It’s okay. We can go.”

“Tony.”

“Let’s go. Do you want to go to Tahiti? I think I still have that place in Tahiti.”

“Tony.”

“Just a sec. I’ll call the jet.”

“Tony!”

He looked down and Steve took his hand. “I love it,” he said.

“You do? Really?”

“Really. I love it. It’s perfect.”

Tony let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. His chest hurt. He put a hand to it and kneaded a little. He thought he might have been holding that breath ever since Strange and Shuri had come out of her operating room and said Steve was alive.

“Are you okay?” Steve asked.

“I’m cool. Just a minor infarction. Nothing to worry about.”

Steve gave him his patented Captain-America-Frown-of-Disapproval. “Don’t say that.”

“You’re right,” Tony said. He brushed his fingers through the beard that covered Steve’s cheek. “We don’t joke about that stuff anymore, do we?”

“No. We don’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

Steve smiled at him again. “It’s okay.” He looked around at the place. “And it really is perfect, Tony. I’m just surprised. Before, you said places like this were too--”

“Little House on the Prairie. I know.” He shrugged. “I’m starting to get the appeal.”

“After everything.”

“Yeah,” Tony said. “After everything. Besides, it’s better than the convalescent home Strange picked out.”

Steve winced and rubbed his temples. “Could you _not_ say ‘convalescent’?”

Tony snorted. “Say what? Convalescent? You don’t want me to say convalescent? Why don’t you want me to say convalescent?”

“Come on, Tony, please?” Steve groaned.

“Okay, okay,” he relented. “Why don’t you want me to say _that word_?”

Steve looked down at his hands then glanced shyly up through his lashes. “It makes me feel old.”

“You are old, soldier,” Tony said.

Steve looked away, back down at the lake. A few gulls had landed on the sandy beach. They strutted here and there self-importantly, reminding Tony of some of the members of the Board of Stark Industries. Steve’s thumb had crept to his mouth and he started gnawing on the nail. It was a habit he’d picked up over the last few weeks. Tony didn’t like it. It worried him.

He put his hand on Steve’s arm. “What’s wrong?”

Steve shrugged, but he kept worrying the nail between his teeth.

“Talk to me, baby, what is it?”

Steve pulled the thumb from his mouth as if just realizing it was there and gripped the arm of the chair. When he looked at Tony it was with barely-concealed fear. “I _am_ going to get old,” he said. "The serum, it isn’t going to keep me alive forever. I’m going to die someday.”

Tony placed his hand gently on the back of Steve’s neck. His hair had grown a little longer and Tony ran his fingers through it. “Did you think you were going to be immortal?” he asked. His voice was soft but genuinely curious.

“No,” Steve answered, troubled. “No, but knowing it and...you know...having it happen for real are two different things.”

“What happened to that ‘I’ve had a good run’ guy?”

“He died.” The thumb started to come back up to his mouth. Steve forced it back to the armrest and held it tightly. “I’d made my peace with it then, but now…” He shook his head.

“Please don’t tell me you’re upset that we saved you,” Tony said. “My ego will take a real hit if I thought you’d rather die than be with me.”

Steve’s laugh was small and surprised, but genuine. “I think your ego could take it.”

“It is pretty big,” Tony conceded.

Steve’s smile faded and he sighed. “I guess I just want to make sure you want to be with me. You never did get your two weeks to think about it.”

“I’ve been thinking about it for years. I’m pretty sure.”

“Yeah, but maybe it would have been easier.” He looked down at his hands again. “If I hadn’t...that way, you and Pepper…”

Tony sat on the bumper of the car. In his head, he heard Howard squawk with anger, but he ignored it. He was getting better at the ignoring part. He reached out and took Steve’s hand.

“Steve, I’m going to tell you something and I want you to listen because it’s important, okay?”

“I always listen.”

“Well, listen harder. I love Pepper,” he said, and when Steve looked away, Tony squeezed his hand maybe a bit harder than necessary until he looked back. “I’ve loved her for years and I always will love her. But being with you? Baby, I didn’t have a choice.”

Steve’s face was drawn and uncertain. He was listening, though, the full force of his concentration fixed on Tony. That hadn’t happened very many times over the years they’d known each other. Usually at least part of his mind was elsewhere. Tony remembered trying to get his attention, snarking, taunting, doing everything he could think of to get those eyes on him, that laser-focus on him. When he succeeded, when he had it, it was thrilling. And terrifying. It still was.

“I want you,” Tony said. “I love you. I think I’ve always loved you. And it’s not easy. It’s never been easy. But I don’t want to change it. I don’t want to change anything about it. It makes me a better man. And I am well aware of how sappy that sounds, so you’d better believe it. My ego might be able to take one hit, but it definitely can’t take two.”

“I believe you,” Steve said. “But being with me comes with a lot of...stuff. There are things you can have with her that you can’t have with me. Family. Kids. It’s too dangerous. We can say we’re retired, but Vision was right--it is our strength that makes people want to challenge us.” He smiled a small, complicated smile. “We’re stronger together. We always have been. Haven’t we?”

“You know we have.”

“I do know, and I love that, but it also makes us a bigger target. You never know when somebody might get it in their head to try and take us out. Again.”

Tony was shaking his head. “I don’t care,” he said in an off-hand kind of way.

“You say that now, but what about in a year?”

“I won’t care then, either.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yeah, I do. Because if I’m with her then that means I don’t get you, and frankly, that’s not an option for me. And that other stuff?” He shrugged. “It’s a fair trade.”

“I don’t want you to have any regrets.”

Tony bumped his knee against Steve’s. “Then stop talking,” he said, “because I’m starting to regret you coming out of sedation.”

“Smartass,” Steve sighed, and shook his head with a very familiar look on his face, half-irritated, half-fond. Tony would never be able to calculate the number of times he’d seen it, and he was a genius. It was only recently that he’d realized how often the fond part outweighed the irritation.

He basked in it for a minute, then unable to stop himself, he asked, “Do _you_ have any regrets?”

Tony watched him think about it, entranced by the seriousness that came over him when he concentrated. It was an almost physical force, an aura around him. Tony’s stomach flipped over lazily, then Steve turned those eyes on him again--those goddamn husky-blue eyes--and it flipped again.

Steve reached out. He grasped the sleeve of Tony’s leather jacket and tugged it a little. “No.”

Tony grinned, relieved in spite of himself. “Fuck regrets, huh?” he said, and they sat smiling at each other while the birds sang, and the lake lapped at the sandy shore. It was a good moment. Quiet and good.

Tony cocked his head. “I should probably kiss you now, shouldn’t I?”

Steve nodded solemnly, slowly. “Yes, please.”

Tony leaned forward. He rested one hand on Steve’s thigh and cupped the other around the back of his neck. Steve closed his eyes as their lips met, and grasped Tony’s jacket to pull him closer. When he whispered, “I love you,” into Tony’s mouth, Tony kissed him harder, his heart beating faster, his mind everywhere and nowhere. He couldn’t believe he’d almost lost this.

Steve pulled back a little, his eyes still closed, his hand still knotted in the leather of Tony’s jacket. “You shouldn’t have to touch me while I’m in this thing,” he murmured. “I’m sorry.”

Tony kissed his temple. “Did you not hear what I just said? _Fuck_ regrets, Steve.” He ran his fingers over the sandy beard covering Steve’s cheek. “Except this. You should regret this.”

Steve let out a startled laugh and opened his eyes. They sparkled. Tony didn’t think he’d ever actually seen eyes that sparkled before. It made his heart beat faster.

“You really don’t like it, do you?” Steve asked.

“I hate it.”

He laughed again in the back of his throat and rubbed his cheek against Tony’s. Tony pushed him away.

“I knew you’d hate it,” Steve said, then shrugged. “Nat likes it.”

“Well, she doesn’t have to kiss you, does she?” Tony said.

“She doesn’t have to, but…” Steve trailed off, raising his eyebrows.

“Really?” Tony huffed. “I guess I don’t have to either.”

Steve pulled him in and kissed him again. “I’ll shave it tonight,” he said. “I promise.”

“Can I watch?”

Steve’s lips curled in a slow, dark smile. “Yeah.”

Tony’s knees felt weak, but he stood up. It was either stand up or drag him to the ground right there. He knew which he preferred, but tonight would be soon enough. Steve was worth the wait. “It’s a date, soldier.”

He went around the back of the chair and grabbed the handles. Steve tensed.

“Tony, you don’t have to--”

“You need to get over this, Steve,” he said firmly. “It’s okay.”

He breathed in then out, forcing himself to relax. “I’m trying.”

Tony leaned over the back of the chair, put his arms around Steve’s neck and hugged him. “I know you are,” he said into his ear. “You’re not going to be in this thing forever, baby. The serum’s still in there, still doing its thing, it’s just going to take some time.” He kissed his shoulder. “I know this sucks, but you’re doing great. I’m proud of you.” Tony felt a hitch in Steve’s chest and tightened his arms around him. He held him while Steve sniffed and wiped his face with the back of his hand. He only let go when Steve squeezed his hand.

“Will you push me down to the water?” he asked, hesitantly.

“Of course, I will.”

Tony laid hold of the handles again and pushed the chair down the path that led to the dock. Long grasses whickered against his jeans, against the chair’s wheels. Across the lake, one lone boat bobbed on the water, a solitary fisherman. In July, there’d be speed boats and jet-skis and kids playing grab-ass on the beach. Not here, this was private, but near here, near enough to see and hear. Far enough so that they wouldn’t be disturbed, but close enough so that they wouldn’t feel isolated either.

Tony had asked Natasha for a visit in a few weeks. “Give us ‘til July,” he’d said, “then come up. You bring the beer and I’ll cook the steaks. It’ll be fun.” She’d asked if she could bring someone and he’d hesitated only a second before saying yes, sure she could bring someone. She’d been spending time with Bruce again, but Tony had seen the way she looked at Bucky when they came to visit Steve in Wakanda. He thought it might be a toss-up between the two. Or maybe she’d just bring Sam. Sometimes no pressure was the best choice.

But either way, Tony and Steve would have some time to themselves. Some time to be quiet and calm and relax. Some time to see how they fit together, where they’d have to compromise, and where they wouldn’t. There’d be fights--they were, after all, still _them_\--but they wouldn’t last. And the making up would be better. There was that to look forward to.

“Tony,” Steve said and pointed into the meadow. “There’s daisies. Will you pick some?”

“I didn’t know you were a flower-man,” Tony said. “I would have bought out every shop in the city.”

“They’re not for me.”

“Okay. Well, thanks for the gesture, but _I’m_ not a flower-man.”

Steve looked back at him, a little smile on his lips. “They’re not for you, either,” he said. “I’ve got a girl.”

“You what, now?”

“Yeah. She’s really nice. And I think she likes me.”

“Okay, you need to explain yourself before I roll you right off this dock and into the lake.”

Steve laughed. “FRIDAY,” he said. “They’re for her.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Wow, Steve. Cheating with the secretary is so over. Who do you think you are, Don Draper?”

“Who’s Don Draper?”

“Clint told you he liked your beard,” Tony went on. “Are you going to hook up with him, too?”

Steve smiled a little. “I kinda like this jealous side of you.”

“I’m not jealous.”

“Good. You don’t have any reason to be.” He reached back and touched Tony’s hand. “It’s only you. It’s only _ever_ been you, you know that, right?”

Tony felt a spark ignite in his chest. “Yeah, Cap, I know.” He stepped off the path and started picking flowers in his five hundred dollar jeans, leather jacket, and Ray Bans. He handed them one-by-one to Steve so he could make them into a tidy bouquet. “So, are you going to tell me why _I’m_ picking flowers for _your_ virtual side-piece?”

“It’s a thank-you. For activating the protocol that night.”

“God, leave it to you to actually have an amazing reason. Maybe I should buy out every shop in the city for her.”

“Just the daisies, Tony.”

Tony came back to the chair. Steve stiffened when he took the handles but didn’t say anything. Baby steps. They went down to the lake and sat for awhile. Steve sat in his chair and Tony perched on the edge of the dock, his legs swinging a few inches above the water. They didn’t talk much, but Steve put his hand in Tony’s hair and ran it through his fingers absently.

The thought of Howard popped into Tony’s head, what he would think about this, how he would feel, but he leaned his head against Steve’s knee, and it went away. Tony let it go. He was getting better at that, too.

After awhile, Tony stood up. “Sure you don’t want to go to Tahiti?” he asked.

Steve shrugged. “I’d go anywhere with you,” he said. “But I’d kinda like to stay here for awhile, if that’s okay.”

Tony nodded. “Let’s go inside, then, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Steve turned the chair around and Tony gripped the handles. Steve sighed, and Tony dropped a kiss on top of his head.

“Your convalescent castle awaits,” he said.

“Really, Tony? You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

“Don’t be such a grumpy old man.”

“You know you’re older than I am? Technically?”

“Pfft,” Tony scoffed. “Semantics.” Steve glared back at him, but the fondness won out. Again. Grinning that Stark grin, Tony leaned over and kissed the side of Steve’s neck, then pushed him up the path toward the cabin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! That went places I wasn't expecting. Especially since this was just going to be a little one-off story about Steve and Nat bonding over a bit of mutual pining. But, when they kept talking, I just kept writing. Far be it from me to shush characters who continue to speak.
> 
> Once again, thanks so much for reading this, and a special thanks to those who left such sweet words and kudos here. You don't know how much your words of encouragement have meant to me! 
> 
> If you want to stop here on this cheesy little happy ending (yeah, I know it is, sue me), please feel free to do so. However, if you choose to continue on the rest of this ride with me, please know that several of the remaining stories in this series contain some very dark things that may be upsetting to some people. At one point, I was so upset myself I stopped writing for two weeks. I debated whether to post them at all, but decided if I was going to do this, I would see it through until the end. I will do my best to tag each story appropriately to let you know what is in each one in case you want to tap out. The ratings will also go up. Not only for violence. There are some nice things in here too.  
If I don't see you for the next story, thanks again for reading this one!  
If I DO see you, get ready for a bit of a roller-coaster ride...


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